


The year's last, loveliest smile

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dating, Developing Relationship, Diabetic toothache fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, written before 109
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: Mike goes to Chicago. Things change.“Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."― William Cullen Bryant [Indian Summer]





	1. Chapter 1

It is the hectic beauty of death that gets to him. The leaves turn orange and gold, some already in their senescent free-fall. The windy coolness is somewhat pleasant, but Mike Lawson is in pain. Physically and emotionally.

Such is the start of Autumn. In season, in life.

Distance was supposed to help. A change of scene was supposed to help. Finally, being part of a unit where he wasn’t the second-to-oldest player was supposed to help. _Not_ seeing her face was supposed to help. Not being around her was supposed to help.

 _Chicago_ was supposed to help.

It didn’t.

The pizza and bars were great. But, that was about it.

Different city, different playing field, different club house – even the grass felt different.

(Different stab in his heart. Not seeing her - as opposed to seeing her all the time).

For a kid who moved around for most of his life, it’s ironic that as an adult, Mike wasn’t inclined to repetitive readjustment. Realigning himself with strangers, wasn’t as easy as it once was. His younger compatriots were more flexible, most accustomed to being shuffling around. He can’t really fault himself. He’d spent most his adult life with the _Padres_ after all – by choice.

Then, there was the matter of his body. His batting, experience, and strategic capabilities may have been enough to silence sceptics about his less-than-perfect knees but Mike still lived under the apprehension that he was on the losing end of a time limited war. (His run-down knees were bitching and moaning, even before, he got off the plane.)

The biggest circumstantial problem to face, was having to _follow_.

(It wasn’t about pride, as much as simply not being _accustomed_ to it. His easy demeanour and respectful work ethic may have prevented from butting heads with anyone – but saying that, it was _not_ easy, was an understatement.)

Despite retaining the catcher’s position, he was no longer the man in charge. There were players on the team who exceeded in terms of seniority and age. He felt shepherded around and useless for the first couple of weeks. It felt bizarre not be invited on discussions with the manager and the coaches; not to give inspirational speeches, to have them building up in his head with no one to give them to.

An aimless mother duck. (It would be weeks before he admitted there was just one _Padre_ who took him seriously; who followed him with big trusting brown eyes).

And, yes. The pitchers were too quiet. (That was the absolute _worst_.)

Mike was driven to the point of humming during workouts to muzzle the insipid grunts. Being among the older, more experienced, players, he commanded _some_ respect in the form of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ – but it was not enough to stop the boys from ragging him. Bryant gave Mike the pretty-boy version of the skunk-eye – Ross went so far to call him out on it: _“Mike, if you’re gonna to embarrass yourself humming Katy Perry songs, at least have the courtesy to be in tune.”_

(Tommy ‘tough-nuts’ Miller was the only sonnovabitch who put two and two together. Mike made it a point to avoid him during his warmups.)

Finally, it takes a whole month of teething troubles, unpleasant fine-tuning, denial and all around general grumpiness for Mike Lawson to finally admit it.

(Skulking out in one of Chicago’s finest whiskey haunts, all alone, he admits it. To his phone, to a half-empty glass of bourbon and to himself.)

Her name had popped up on an alert, linked with some filthy rich, handsome, hipster Silicon Valley Moghul. That instant, an icy grip had clutched Mike’s heart. When it restarted, barely a second later, he breathed and began to laugh – maniacally. Earned a lot of unpleasant glances from patrons and the bartender, alike.

He logs in to the cloud and downloads photos he’d deleted off his phone earlier. He flips through them. Pictures _of_ her, pictures _with_ her. He smiles at her face. Luminous eyes, pink gums, white teeth – and dimples – _those_ dimples - gleaming back at him as he runs a thumb over her face and sighs with a throb in his chest that aches far worse than with Rachel.

He was _in_ love. With Ginny Baker.

She was what he wanted. She was what he couldn’t have.

There was no way out of this. It had to run its course. It had to fade.

Like the hectic beauty of death. Like Fall to Winter. Until he finds someone else or – (the more likely outcome)- he dies from a broken heart.

 

* * *

 

A man must reconcile with himself, at some point.

Pain and Love are things that demand to be felt. He makes his peace with both. It’s cleansing, almost cathartic...the acceptance. It makes him a much happier person. He goes from perennial grouch, to giving smiley-Bryant a run for the grins.

(He stops biting Miller’s head off every time the subject of Baker is broached. The younger man notices – Mike makes it a point to add conversations with him on the list of things to avoid, right after the warmups.)

 

 

It is inevitable, that they would play each other at some point. Mike is either too old, or too fucked in his head to deny the excitement he feels. He throws his energy into practice and play, readying his body, mind, and will to face the _Padres_.

(To see her.)

Thing is - (his jealousy of her bond with Duarte, notwithstanding -) Mike is happy for her, happy _about_ her. He privately believes that he had _some_ part in steering her head-game. He likes to think he might have taught her how to scheme, how to plan – how to win. She’s grown more confident. Her throws have become stealthier with time. Her ERAs were steadily improving– and even without the fast pitches, Ginny was gaining a reputation as a deceptively gentle, crafty offensive force.

So, who better than her former batterymate, her starting catcher, guide and mentor to take her down? They place him higher up in the batting order, on purpose. Mike thinks it’s a strategic and sensible decision.

(That isn’t what has him smiling though…)

He hasn’t seen her in months. He thinks about seeing ber face at a distance six feet lesser than their usual. He wants to grin at her – see, if she’ll smile back.

(Yeah, so what, if they’re playing at the expense of millions and It’s all _he_ can think about?).

The hectic beauty of death. Like Fall. Dying in a haze of karmic euphoria and madness.

Knowing you will love someone, you can never have.

And being happy about it.

 

* * *

 

Imagine, his surprise when they announce a last-minute pitching change when he comes up at bat. Imagine his disappointment at facing Evers passable mug, in her place.

Mike’s peeved, to say the least.

“She hurt?” Is the first thing he says to  Duarte as he comes up to the box.

Duarte’s in the middle of jumping up and down readying himself. He stops mid-side lunge and stares at him – incredulous and annoyed. Mike tips up his helmet to show, how genuinely concerned he is.

“Nope.” Duarte says, squatting down with a superfluous ease that Mike envies.

“Then, why isn’t she starting?” Mike persists. ( Mike knows the Al and the order better than anyone else. By his calculations, Sonny was supposed to start two games later. )

“Mike!” The umpire hurries them.

Duarte ignores him. Mike readies himself, vibrating with confusion and energy, at once. 

Sonny had just nodded to Duarte’s call, when Mike sighs and straightens up, asking for a minute. The umpire groans and Sonny looks pissed enough to bean him.

Mike ignores them all; he just looks expectantly, at Duarte.

“You _loco_ , _hombre_?” Duarte sputters, looking at him in disbelief.

“Why isn’t she starting?” Mike growls the words out, enunciating them.

Duarte glares at him open-mouthed for all of two seconds and then gives him a sardonic snort and smile. “ _Mami_ don’t wanna pitch to you.” Duarte shrugs, looking him squarely in the eyes.

Mike spits, the second Duarte said ‘ _Mami_ ’. He narrows his eyes at the younger catcher. Duarte smirks at him in response.

It is. Not helpful.

Mike readies himself, again, his arms and hands flexing with vitality that’s pulsing into the bat. The first ball is a strike out. Mike allows that because he just does. He knows Sonny, well enough – a fastball comes at him next - the one, he’s waiting for.

His bat connects – Mike chews his gum angrily, as the ball flies out of the park. The crowd erupts into a cheer.

He’s not smiling when he jogs around the diamond.

They hear she’s been moved down to relief pitching. His teammates joke about how scared she might have been facing off against him. All the more, after that brilliant display of batsmanship. He’s being assaulted with pats, ass-slaps and congratulatory handshakes. The assistant manager has the audacity to ask him if she might have opted for it. Mike resists the urge to scowl at him – but he doesn’t dignify the query with a response.

“She’s crossed her pitching limit.” Miller remarks when Mike drops in the bench next to him.

Mike wants to believe that’s the reason. He doesn’t want to think that she’d shy away from facing him. It hurts to think that she wouldn’t even try.

 

-

 

She shows up at bat and the bottom of the sixth. He was expecting an impassive, snobbish look. A scowl, at the very least. (He was looking forward to spite. At least, it would mean that she still cared.)

She waves a hello to Miller on the mound. Then, she surprises Mike with a polite smile (no dimples, though. Means, she’s still pissed at him)

“Hiya Baker!” He acknowledges, as he adjusts his weight on his haunches, watching Miller dust his hands.

“Lawson.” She mumbles, dragging her cleat across the dirt. Her voice is cold – and distant.

(Could be pegged to game focus – could be pegged to the fact that she’s still mad as hell at him for walking out on the Padres. So – he’s happy in a masochistic way.)

He can’t resist chatting. “How are you?”

“Good. You?” She doesn’t look at him.

“Knees hurt.”

She freezes, turns slowly, looking back at him in disbelief for the admission. He tilts the facemask up and grins at her.

 _(You look good_ , is what he wants to say.

Mike’s seen her in every level of dressup against a variety of social backdrops. But here, out against the emerald expanse of a baseball field, no makeup, her face covered with sweat & grime, that determined frown on her face – wearing her Padres uniform – _this_ look is his favourite.

Mike concedes in that moment that he was extremely unfair to Robles.

 _Here's the truth, Omar:_   _You never get used to looking at her. You don’t get over how beautiful she is. You just suck it up and focus on the game – try not to dream about her at night._ )

The corners of Ginny’s symmetrical mouth are twitching. She shakes her head at him.

A wave of affection fills him. “Go easy on me okay.” He teases. “Y’know? Brittle bones and all?”

There’s suspicion in her retort. “You gonna go easy on me?”

(Because leniency would piss her off more. He knows that.)

“Call me ‘Old Man’.” He dares. “And we’ll find out.”

“Yeah, okay.” She snorts, sarcastically.

(Mike knows that she presumes he’s joking. He’s not.)

“Call me ‘Old Man’.” He insists, softly. 

She frowns at him – as though the sincerity of his intention is sinking in. That, he is actually requesting her and not goading her.

Mike feels his heart drop when she looks away.  He snaps the mask in place and punches his glove in – glancing to check if Miller is ready. “Come on!” He pleads, softly, glancing at her. “I miss it.”

When she turns to look at him, her face is like steel. There’s anger flashing in her eyes. He feels sad about it – but just enough for self-pity - anger drives her to play better. She gives the umpire the sign that she’s ready and composes her body into a batting stance.

Mike wishes that he was in Miller’s place. He misses seeing that calculating look on her face – the way her mouth twists when she’s trying to decipher what the opponent was up to.

Not that he minds staring at her ass. Perfect, pear-shaped. Easy on the eyes and right in his line of sight. _So_ – so hot from where he crouches. Like – really….

“What the fuck! Mike!” She bursts out.

Mike blinks when her posterior turns away.  “What?” He snaps, squinting up at her.

“Dude!” She exclaims, flailing her free arm around – gesturing to the pitcher’s mound.

“This season Mike.” The umpire hollers – like there is something Mike was missing.

Oh. Right.  

It’s then, that Mike realizes that the umpire has been yelling at him. Miller was glaring at him, throwing his arms up and making quizzical faces at him – all the way from the mound.

Mike was too absorbed ogling at somebody’s fine pear-shaped derriere to make the call. 

“Seriously – why didn’t you start?” He asks, as he makes an apologetic gesture to Miller, clapping his glove and making the signal.

“You know my weaknesses.” She says, tensing into position – her bat swaying.

“You know mine.” He shrugs, as Miller agrees to his call and winds up.

“Are you trying to distract me?” She says, just as Miller checks his peripherals.

“Nope.” He answers, hoping that the truth is reflected in his voice. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I missed you, too, Old Man.”  She says – loud enough for him to hear – just before the swoosh of the swing hits his ears.

Mike has less than a second to laugh before he swings into action. He’d grab her and hug her if he had the chance. MLB be damned. But, she’d already taken off, her long legs carrying her like a horse.

 

 

Because of some stupid ass lazy bunting on Hinkley’s part – and expected exuberance on Baker’s end, she jumped ahead, as always, charging from third base. Mike was caught up in receiving the ball and tapping her out, just as she slid sideways, but he would retrospectively, admire the ferocity on her face.

She was pissed as hell. String of colourful curses, stomping around and fuming with frustration.

Mike grins at her, chewing his gum as he watches her storm off. She rips her helmet and shaking her head, with that pony tail flying about wildly. She slaps the hard helmet angrily against her thigh. He knows that’s her way of self-reprimand, and though, Mike has never approved, he’s never questioned her about that habit. He makes it a point to give her some pointers on self-leniency. 

His teammates huddle around, patting his shoulder – bumping arms, congratulating him. Between the sea of bodies, he notices that she casts a glance back at him as she walks away. He makes it a point for her to know that he’s watching her. Even shoves Bryant’s pretty face away, just to get a good look at hers.

He sees the smile.

_Yeah, this was going to be fun._

 

The Cubs win.

But, Baker’s heroic relief pitching had the batters scurrying about like rats and there were some nail-biting moments where they thought the game was lost. Everyone and their uncle, were nothing but praises and questions about her.

Mike feels a sense of pride when they express their admiration. Doesn’t take much effort to rally the guys to hang out with the _Padres_ , later.

He’s downright peachy. All the way through the post-game press. All the way to the bar. All the way through the first round of drinks.

Right up – until - he learns that she’s been living with Duarte.

 

* * *

 

 

“She’s what?” He barks.

“Relax!” Blip cajoles.

He slams the thick shot glass on the counter and it cracks.

“She is shacking up with that _punk_?” He almost chokes on the acrid liquid gushing down his guzzler, glowering at Blip. “And you _let_ her do it?”

“Mike! She’s not a kid! I’m not her Dad!” Blip frowns. “Besides, what’s the problem? They’re not together or anything.”

The minute Blip says it, Mike’s mind flashes the image – Ginny sprawled against white sheets, bronze skin that ran for days turning rouge, moaning and gasping – with… (Mike grits his teeth enough to chip the enamel)….with motherfuckin’ _Duarte_ between her thighs.

“Mike, she’s twenty-three…” Blip sighs, mid-explanation. “– she’s never been to college. She’s been living out of a hotel for three months. She needs to live a little! It’s not like…” Blip breaks off and frowns as he regards him with apprehension. “Mike.” Concern sifts through his voice. “It’s like I said…they’re just…”

“Roommates.” That cocky, annoying, accented voice cuts in. “Not that it is any of his business.”

Mike wheels around in his seat, jutting out his lower jaw, curling his fist and is just about ready to slam it right into that shit-eating grin on Duarte’s face.

“What’s the matter Lawson?” Duarte goads. “You find it objectionable for a beautiful man and a beautiful woman to share an apartment?”

The implication of ‘beautiful’ isn’t lost on him. “I do if they’re on the same team.” Mike barks. “ – and one of them is my friend. Spoiler alert, _Livaaan_ – it’s not you.”

“Huh.” Duarte smiles at him – a sly smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s funny. Wills and Fugua are roomies – yet, you don’t seem to have an issue with them? Are they not your friends?”

Mike snorts indignantly. He inhales sharply, refusing to take the bait.

“Not that it is any of your business. But. She’s my friend, too.“ Duarte says, dropping his voice. “Besides, what does it matter to you, eh? It’s not like you’re a _Padre_ , anymore.”

“Woah! Hey!” Blip warns, pointing at Duarte.

Mike clenches his teeth and shakes his head at Blip. He glares an axiomatic hole into Duarte’s smug face as he slams the money onto the bar top, and then some (as tip and payment for the glass).

“Are you two fucking?” The words are out before Mike can stop ‘em. So loud – that there’s a collective hush that befalls their group.

“Mike!” Blip chides.

Duarte looks murderous.

(Oh well – it’s all the same, he reckons. He’s already made a big enough fool of himself – so what’s a little extra douchebaggery gonna cost him?)

“Are you?” Mike demands. “Because if you are, I can think of - I dunno! - maybe _twenty_ infractions that cost you _both_ your careers.”

“Because, you’re the only one who can think?” Her husky voice cuts through, hurt and disappointment lining her words.

Mike sighs and shuts his eyes. He drops his head into his hand and groans.

(Of course! Ginny _has_ to be close behind. Word on the street is that, they’re practically joined to the hip. She wouldn’t _not_ be there, right? Duarte’s her man, now. Her gym-mate, practice-mate, battery-mate, room-mate and - Mike gags at the thought - _fuck-mate_ for all he knows.)

He rubs his forehead, smoothens out his moustache, hoping the action will drive some sensibility into him before he turns around and makes this worse.  He moistens his lips, and then brings himself to look at her.

Her eyebrows are bent in horizontal lines trying to approximate, worry lines appeared on her forehead. (Her eyebrows do that, when she’s hurt - Mike knows. She never returns affronts, she pushes her emotions aside. Those eyebrows are the ‘tell’.)

Even though, she’s holding her lips in a straight line, he can see her lower lip tremble.  Her eyes are wet – (Mike’s done it. He successfully became the one – goddamned asshole who made the impenetrable Ginny Baker almost cry.)

The silence of among their little party is dreadful. It feels louder than the ambient music and noise of the bar.

“For the record.” She whispers, loud enough for him and Blip and Duarte to hear. “I’m not your stupid little duckling, anymore. I can figure out what’s right and wrong without you.”

(The ache in her voice rams him right in the solar - Mike feels winded, and stupid.)

Ginny closes her eyes and exhales after she says that. Her full lips pouting as her cheeks puff out. “I’m gonna go, guys.” She said, clearing her throat, smiling at the guys. They’re all looking at her with sympathy, pity and all that falls in between. She smacks the half-empty bottle of beer on the counter, nodding at Blip and Duarte and then her eyes focus on him.

Mike feels numb under her gaze.

“You’re not mother duck anymore, either. You gave up that right when you walked out on us.” She hisses.  “I’m done.” She adds.  

\- And then she was gone.

 

_(She’s done._

It hits him – in the after.

_She’s done looking up to me, she’s done putting up with my crap and she’s done…with me.)_

 

* * *

 

Mike will never contest the fact that he’s the face of poor life decisions.

The next two to three hours, pass like a blur.

(It’s not a  miracle that Blip didn’t melt his face off with those scathing looks. It’s a goddamn miracle that Blip didn’t sock him in the looker.

Fuck! Mike wanted to punch himself in the face. He even tried as much in the restroom at one point.

Didn’t hurt.)

He tries and fails _not_ to recall his shameful and unacceptable (not to mention sexist) beratement of Ginny and Duarte’s relationship in front of his new teammates. He’s justifiably boycotted by his teammates (new and old); he spends some time cursing himself for his incorrigible stupidity; spends the rest of his time cursing the high liquor tolerance that won’t allow him to slip into the warm arms of inebriation; until he finally takes comfort in the punishment that his _Padres_ boys dole out in the form of a flurry of abuses and ‘ _what the fuck, Mike?_ ’ speeches.

At the end of the night, after sulking in a lonely corner, trying to get his act together, it takes a lot of wheedling, coaxing, buttering and a solemn promise that he’d behave himself – but he finally succeeds in getting her address from Sonny.

He literally _walks_ the intoxication off for an hour. All the way. To her uber-svelte apartment complex.

How he makes it all the way up to her door– he isn’t sure. He’s seventy percent certain,, he engaged in some conversation with the concierge, whom he’s fifty percent sure, recognized him. It had to have been a good conversation they shared – though, Mike would never recall it later. Somehow, the man merely allowed him to go upstairs without argument or inquisition.

Mike makes a mental note to talk to Baker about the need for proper screening and security in one’s residence as he rides it out in the elevator. If she gives him the chance, without slamming the door in his face

He is, in fact, expecting Duarte when he bangs at the door for a solid five minutes. (There's a doorbell, but door banging makes for a more dramatic impact). Mike restlessly shifts in his spot, fully, prepared to fight his smug Cuban ass. Duarte might be younger and faster, but Mike’s got the enough experience with bar brawls and beanball games to match. 

He only hopes that his accusation hasn’t spurred Ginny to run into her new roommate's arms for comfort and consolation from the big bad, sexist wolf that Mike Lawson turned out to be in the end.

A sliver of dread passes through him, as he rams his fist against, the door.

(What if she’s –? And he’s –? What if they’re -?)

His fist arrests mid-way, when the door opens.

(A part of him is disappointed that he can’t start this with a right hook into Duarte’s smug dimples.

And – yeah -) Ginny looks fuckably beautiful.

That wild mane stands out on its ends, frizzy and untamed, looking like it’s seen better days - but that's probably the only flaw with the vision she presents. She’s wearing a dark tank over shorts. That tank is way too small and too tight. (He can see her nipples straining through the fabric. He’d forgotten how perky her tits were.

Yes, he thought of them a lot.)

They’re not as enticing as the cleavage peeking through that neckline, though. (That’s the real deal-clincher for his cock.) Those tiny shorts, too – yeah. Healthy view of those endless legs – _hmm_. It occurs to Mike that he’s never seen her in shorts. Nope, not even a short skirt. He’s also never really seen her thighs this close. Not even when they worked out. Not even at practice

 _Wait one fucking minute -!_  

(She dresses like that? At home? And - she’s living with Duarte?)

 

“Seriously!” He roars. “What the actual fuck!”

(In retrospect, not the wisest way to start a conversation about residential security.)

“Mike?” She rubs her sleepy eyes with the heel of her palms. “What are you…?” She mumbles, and yawns.

“You can’t date your teammate!” He says, in a soft voice – looking sideways to see if any of the neighbours were disturbed.

“I’m not dating him.” She frowns, lazily. Her eyes are partially closed and her lips are swollen.

“You’re living with him!” He accuses, angrily.

“Yeah, so?”

“You can’t sleep with him.”

That seems to wake her up. Her eyes snaps open and her mouth twists, disapprovingly. She folds her arms across her chest in a way that pushes her boobs up – and - has him - (well - he can’t be blamed for leering, is all he’s saying.)

“I’m not sleeping with him.” She bites out. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“It is my business.” He says, dragging his eyes away from her breasts.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

He comes up short.

They’re engaged in a staring match for what seems like forever. Mike’s just waiting for the ‘Fuck you, asshole!’ and door slamming.

Ginny sighs, suddenly. (Maybe it’s that she’s half asleep, maybe it’s that she’s too tired to argue, maybe it’s nothing.) She gestures for him to come inside.

“Where’s Liv _aaan_?” Mike growls as he walks in, pulling off his jacket.

“Out, probably.” Ginny says in a thick, drowsy voice. She takes his jacket and smoothens it out. Mike wonders if he’s imagining the small nostalgic fond smiley-ish look on her face when she regards it. She hooks it on the pegs, near the door. He smiles, goofily when she does. She places it right next to her white hoodie and Livan’s fugly ass jersey is at least three pegs away.

(So, it feels corny and intimate. Sue him.)

It’s a two-bed room – Mike notices. Mike desperately hopes there's more than one bathroom.  The sofa and furniture look brand new – and their snazzy bright appearance indicate it being Livan’s choice more than Ginny’s. The interiors are shades of grey and impersonal.

Mike spots a lot of unopened boxes lying around. It means their move was recent. He doesn’t know why the thought gives him some solace.  

“There’s beer and grape soda in the fridge.” She points to the kitchen, stifling a yawn. “Coffee’s there somewhere. Help yourself. Let me get decent, okay?” She murmurs as she saunters drowsily towards a room in one corner.

Mike’s busy staring at her scrumptious ass and almost lets her disappear in.

(Man, is he stupid or what!)

“No, Baker.” He says, stopping her – just as she’s about to enter the room. She turns around and looks at him, cautiously.

“I came here to tell you how sorry I am.” He mopes. “I – I was just being an asshole.”

(It’s a first, between them. Him telling her, how sorry he was. They’ve always been good at settling their differences with nods and gestures of friendship. Unspoken truces that somehow made him feel normal around her.)

“Duh.” She yawns, wincing, and rubbing her pitching shoulder.

(Mike notices she keeps doing that. He recalls that she had slid on her pitching side before he outed her.)

He keeps staring at her; giving her his best, most efficient puppy dog face until she smiles at him.

A loopy but forgiving smile.

“Did you eat dinner?” Mike asks, feeling very aware of the fact that it's the wee hours of the morning and she had taken off earlier in the night.

“No.” She yawns.

“Why?”

“’M too tired.” She yawns, again.

“Let me make you something.” He steps towards the kitchen.

“Why?”

“To apologize.”

“So, you think food’s gonna fix that?” She gives him a droopy-eyed smirk.

“Food’s gonna fix some.” He teases.

She looks at him through narrow, slit-like eyes. She folds her arms again and this time Mike has the sense to look away from the mounds jutting out of her plunging neckline.

“Why are you here, Mike?” She asks, plainly.

He’s planning to repeat his apology but the tired, frustrated look on her face makes him falter. He looks at her for the longest time. She stays motionless, staring at him, expecting a response. He reckons she’s either too tired, or too sleepy to fidget.

“I’m in love with you.”

(There. He said it.)

Her eyes pop. Her face goes blank.

(Done. It was out. Now, all he had to do was fake a laugh, make a joke of it, run for his life and pray she still wants to see him, again.

But he can’t.)

Her eyes are like saucers, her jaw drops slowly and her mouth puckers, forming an un-verbalized ‘Oh’.

“We don’t have to do the whole…” He says, quickly. He waves his hand about, meaningfully. “I mean – I know it’s not fair to you. I treat you like crap one minute and the next, I’m here saying… _that.”_ Mike widens his eyes. “I know how creepy it is.” He rolls his eyes in self-disdain. “I know, you don’t feel the same way, Gin. I’m not expecting a ditto or anything, okay? I’m like a fossil – and you could do way better than me…and you’re young and you have your career and…!”

Ginny continues to gape at him. Her eyebrows are knit and her eyes look– kinda – _not_ happy.

(What a royal asshole he is, indeed.)

“Look, I don’t want to disrupt your life.” Mike says. The words tumble out like a sob.

(Because of Deja fucking vu. This is the second time this year he’d landed up drunk, at the residence of a woman he loves – after embarrassing her in front of her friends, saying the _exact_ same words.)

“I’m sorry, Baker –“ Mike sighs, dropping his head. Unable to bear the intensity of her gaze. “I’ll just…I’ll go.”

Mike hesitates – hoping for her to say something. When she doesn’t, he turns, makes to leave. He damned nearly cries out in relief when she finally speaks.

“Is that why you left?” She asks.

When he turns back to her, her face is sober and expressionless, her eyes shine with alertness. It’s like, she’d just snapped out of a stupor. Her voice was so childish and innocent – and it does something - to his penis.

(God, he was such a perv!)

“Yes.” He admits, wanly. “For the most part. There was the other crap, too. Y’know the whole – Duarte coming for my job…” He thinks of Rachel, his father – of his father’s family and sighs out, louder. “Other personal shit too.”

“You’re…” She croaks and trails off. She swallows hard, like she’s swallowing back tears. She looks at him, for a second. Then, she looks here and there – everywhere, but at him. All her stressor signals are on display, at once. She paces up and down, shaking her head, she starts ruffling out her hair, puffing her cheeks out.  She suddenly looks like she wants to cry – and Mike can’t stand that. 

Mike watches, patiently, feeling sick to his stomach. He wasn’t goofing around about not wanting to disrupt her life – especially, if she was happy.

He’s about to eat his words, tell her it’s some stupid prank and leave. But, she winces suddenly, grabs her shoulder, and massages it.

“C’mere.” He gestures. “Let me help you with that.”

She drifts to him, easily, with only a little suspicion in her eyes. That’s the thing with Ginny – she had such a gentle forgiving heart under all that tough skin – he doesn’t deserve it.

He doesn’t deserve her.

He leads her to the couch, intending to seat her by his side, with her back facing to him.

Ginny simply – and unabashedly drops into his lap.

Suffice to say, this is not the reaction he expected.

He doesn’t even go hard.

It just – it feels right.

Mike is so surprised that he just sits frozen, like a statue, as she wiggles back, wedging her ass between his thighs. She hums and curls like a kitten into his embrace, her spine to his chest. Even broad-framed, she seems so petite against his larger bulk. He doesn’t feel strange about her state of relative undress, any more.

It fills him with endearment – not lust.

Mike pushes her hair away; skims his fingers over the back of her neck, down to her shoulder. Her skin feels like silk over hard marble. He curls his fingers over the pressure points over the cuff of her shoulder and starts to knead.

“It hurts.” She mumbles, purring, and snuggling back. Mike gulps as her neck arches across; she rests her head against his other shoulder, permitting him better access.

(God, she feels so right against him!)

“I know.” He says, prodding his fingers into the back of the sore joint – worrying about her pitching limit and how management would abuse her eagerness to fill seats.

She runs her fingers, tentatively, over the calluses over his free hand, lacing her own wiry fingers with his. They’ve never held hands so intimately before – but then again, her hand isn’t the only part of her that is so intimately up close, with him.

“To love, I mean.” She says.

Mike’s fingers are rendered immobile over her shoulder.

“I’m just saying.” She pivots back to look at him. “Love – relationships. It’s – it can be…” she trails off, and sighs.

Mike swallows a dry lump; looks at her with longing and heartache.

“There’s only so much I can take.” She says, with a hollow voice.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he resumes massaging her shoulder. 

“And.” She sounds uncertain, tossing her head back – craning her neck up to his touch. He looks down at her mouth over the plain of her cheek bone. She’s chewing her lip.

“I’m no good with long distance relationships.” She says, with a shaky breath. Mike watches her smile to herself and grunt, sounding wistful. “Actually, I’m no good at relationships, period.”

He blinks. Once, twice.

“What?” He says.

She shirks her shoulder, casually. “That’s why you’re here, right?” She cranes around to look at him.

(If one thinks about it - he came here to bundle her up and cart her away from the supposed seductive clutches of her supposedly lecherous roommate after kicking the living lights out of him. Thankfully, Mike isn’t _that_ stupid to divulge his original motives.) He keeps his mouth shut.

“I mean, you can’t leave the Cubs now, right? Y'all 're in the playoffs.” She speculates.

When Mike stays silent, she frowns. “Or do you just wanna be like friends with benefits or something?” She asks.

( _Friends with-? Huh._ _Fuck no!_ He almost laughs out. _But wait – she was – was she? She couldn’t be -? Could she?_ )

“You’re into me?” He echoes, taken aback.

She rolls her eyes at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing. She scrabbles around in his lap, till she faces him. Mike barely has the sense to evade her leg, when her bony knees knock his chin. She straddles his hips in a frog pose, her feet sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his ass. He widens his hips automatically; gives her room to drop her tush in the space between his thighs.

Any other given situation, his cock would probably have been all systems go, ready to fuck. But. Here, now. He was gobsmacked (that she'd even consider him…that she’d _have_ him.)

She keeps combing her lower lip with her teeth, eating at the insides of her mouth like she’s mulling the idea around and then nods.

“But.” He blurts. “You don't hookup with ballplayers.”

A big smile breaks out on her face. Mike dumbly marvels at the way her lips stretch out over her teeth, at how lovable her dimples are.

“That’s my line.” She giggles.

(That husky giggle – _that’s_ what stirs his cock to life.

Not the fact that her sexy ass was sitting right over it.

 _Damn!_ He was either really getting old to make sense of it, or he was seriously in love.

Or both.)

He knows, she felt it - his hard on rising (because – how could she not?). It seems to appeal to her. She budges forward, nestling closer.

Mike is still unsure. He can’t even smile at her. Logically, he should pluck her out, keep her as far away from his man-parts; try and rehash the whole conversation; think over it (– dammit, at least force her to think over it!)

But, she was here – so close. And they’re alone. He can’t resist. He, hesitantly, moves to  clap her face in his palms, but she’s already there, leaning her chin into his hands and tilting her mouth, brushing her lips over his. He runs his hand over her forehead, combs all that unkempt hair back over her crown and kisses her - properly.

It’s sloppy, lazy, deep, and wet – and he brings his A-game (because - what the hell, right?). It’s perfect – her mouth. Shapely, warm and pliant. She slips her arms around his neck to hug him, tight – moaning appreciatively, when he licks her tongue before he pulls away.

(God, he missed her scent!)

He is still somewhere between elation and shock. “No one can know, okay?” He rumbles hoarsely, keeping his lips hover hers. “’Specially players.” He adds.

She laughs quietly against his lips and nuzzles his nose. “Also, my line.” She grins.

“I’m serious, Ginny.” He draws back. “If this gets out, it will end your career. I couldn’t live with that.”

She studies his face with a calm expression and smiles at him, lovingly. Mike wraps his arms around her waist before he catches her thighs. He grazes his hands along their length, relishing her legs with his palms. Lithe muscles that twitch and flinch under smooth, thick skin; sunbeaten, roughened and abused; knicks and scars over her knees and shins; knobbly shaving bumps greet him over the calves. They’re brawny legs – made for action. Running, jumping, lunging (and yes – and he can’t wait to feel their power, wrapped around him, when they fucked hard – because that _was_ going to happen – maybe, not tonight – but going to happen – for sure.)

He pulls her ankles, tucks them behind his hips. She promptly shifts forward, docking her crotch against his, locks her ankles behind his back.

“Mmm.” She moans, licking her lips, watching his face. He wants to grab her and kiss her senseless. Instead, he takes his time with the second kiss as well. He opens his mouth wide, lets her explore with her tongue while he slides his hands up her waist, underneath that ridiculous excuse for a tank-top. The skin over her abdomen feels silky and thin against his callused hands – glossier than her limbs. Her kisses became more insistent as he skates his palms up and down her rib cage. She rakes her fingertips through his scalp and beard.

She breaks away gulping big breaths of hair as soon as his thumbs scrape over the turgid nipples trapped against the fabric of her top.

It amazes him -  how radiant her face appears in the wake of arousal, when her eyes are absurdly dark – pupils stretching out.

She rubs forward against his crotch, widening hips in circular motions over his hard on. Mike groans and drops his head into the crook of her neck, in response.

She shrugs the wispy straps off when he scoops a palm upwards, her breast sneaks out of the plummeting neckline. (He can’t wait to get his hands on her magnificent ass - but these not-so-small breasts are his favourite, right now). He holds her gaze and reaches his tongue out – licks the nipple till it recoils into a stiff bud. She sighs, sharply. He flattens his tongue against the plum flesh, teasing it, capturing the skin between his lips, sucking and kneading at the same time.

There's a hint of salt to the taste of skin. Her gaps are rough, mixing with moans. It's a heady mix of sounds and goes straight to his cock. 

Before long, she wrenches her hands away from his shoulders and is fumbling around, grappling at his shirt.

Mike catches the hem of her top and rolls it upwards. She throws her arms up, for his benefit. He peels it off and gapes hungrily at her breasts. She returns to struggling with his shirt buttons. He growls and cups her breasts, roughly. Ducks his head, biting, sucking and squeezing, grating his beard on her skin. She’s undulating back and forth – grinding against on his hard on, shoving her breasts in his face, feeding him her nipples.

Her fingers are still trembling under his chin.

When he looks up, she (– well – he might as well state the obvious.) She looks desperate –restless – horny.

And. She wants him.

He releases her tit with a small pop. Pulls her face down and makes out with her.

“Mike.” She whispers a plea, grinding and rubbing up against him.

He reaches for button line of his shirt. He helps her open the first few buttons. She gingerly places her hands on his shoulders, watching his actions as he continues down.

She sighs, palming his shoulders while he shrugs off his shirt. She helps him tug the undershirt over his head. He closes his eyes, sighing loudly when her warm palms skate over his chest. He shivers as those thin calluses scrape over his pectorals.

(There’s perplexity on her face when he opens his eyes. She looks – uncertain, almost. Like she wasn’t sure if – ) “I like that.” He says, testing his theory.

Her eyes darken. Her lower lip drops further. Her breathing is shaky – loud.  She looks pleased and repeats her actions.

Mike leans his head back when she hesitantly drops her head, pressing his lips on his neck. He pets her back; hums encouragingly when she nips small kisses around his neck and shoulders – her fingers mapping out his front. He traces the cuts of over her sinewy shoulders, sketches out her spine with his fingers, dipping them into the small dimples above her ass. She thumbs over his navel and sits back – smiling shyly.

He ought to come up with something funny to say. He ought to crack some stupid comment that breaks the awkwardness of it all.

But, for once, he’s rendered speechless – jokeless.

(She’s twenty-three. Her whole life has been about baseball. Eager –but so green and raw. She can’t possibly have much of a sex life – not with her lifestyle. In the three months, that Mike had known her she held herself guarded, tightly wound, prickly, and stubborn. Could anyone blame her? Her every move scrutinized, her every weakness laid bare for the world to pass judgment on. Compulsorily clamping her needs to protect herself, her time, her body – forcibly turning herself into a machine.)

But she’s a woman just the same. A gorgeous, warm blooded, sexual, sensual creature.

And she was here, giving herself to him.

He cups her, suddenly, through her shorts. The crotch is soaked, much to his delight. He hisses, drawing his head back and looking at her. She blushes and looks away. His hands shake, fumbling until he gets his hand in. Velvet skin and prickly stubble - scrape against his dry, rough open palm. She groans loudly and shoves her body down, right into his grasp. Her slick seeps over his fingers – and he feels damned happy about it. His cock feels much happier.

She’s bracing his shoulders, tightly, as she bears down his open knuckles. Her head falls back when he finds her clit. He flattens a fingertip against that stiff erect little bundle. She’s whining loudly, smacking her lips, rolling her tongue out and biting against her upper lip as he rolls it around. He cups the back of her neck and forces her to kiss him. He clamps his mouth over hers, licking her teeth. She sobs out tiny pleading whines that sounded like a kitten mewling.  

“Fuck! Gin you’re so wet!” He murmurs. “Are you wet for me, Gin?” His words reverberate back into his mouth from hers.

It’s not a question he needs answered, but she nevertheless, breaks away to breathe, nodding vigorously, writhing her body in circular motions against the pressure of his finger.

“Do you like this?” He whispers, kissing up her neck – there’s a particular spot behind her ear that works like trigger. He grates his chin over it and she promptly shivers. He can see goosebumps breaking out over her arms.

“Do you want my fingers, baby?” He asks (but really, he’s begging because he wants to feel what she’s like from the inside.)

She whimpers, swallowing deeply and then nods, looking at him anxiously. She was so wet, his index finger slides in without the slightest resistance.

 _Fuck!_ Mike knows his cock’s going to be too painful for her. Her cunt feels way too snug around his finger. Just watching her cry out, grabbing his neck for support, throwing her head back makes him want to stretch her out more. He adds another finger – watching her jerky movements and breaking sighs for air.

Mike gasps – just watches her. Her flat washboard abdomen is a treat to behold – he sees that four-pack stretch and dip as she rolls her hips. He steadies her by her waist, but she’s already arching back – precariously unbalanced, fucking down on his fingers.

“Mike.” She moans out his name. He circles her clit with his thumb, feeling her thrust down over his knuckles – he tugs at her waist harshly, hauling her spine up straight. She swings back up on her knees, unwittingly allowing him to shift his fingers in deeper.

A strangled cry erupts and she drops her head.

Mike finally – _finally_ – allows himself to grab a handful of her ass. Perfect, pear-shaped and taut. He looks at her face, looks at her breasts bounce, _just fucking looks,_ as she starts clenching around him erratically.

He reaches for her neck and sinks his teeth into skin just above her collarbone. She twists and cries out. Mike flattens his tongue over the inflamed mark and soothes it with licks and kisses. “That’s it.” He coos to her, whilst juddering his thumb over the peak of her clit, pistoning two fingers inside until the tight rim of her cunt seizes, Ginny spasms – he hears her husky strangled cry his ears: “ _Mm.._ Mike!”  A loud gasp follows it. Her whole sex starts to throb over his knuckles, a distinct wetness pools at the base of his fingers.

It’s only when he exhales that he realizes he’s been holding his breath.

Her moaning and writhing does not help things with his engorged cock. His underwear is damp with precum and everything was uncomfortably chafing against everything else. Mike leans his forehead against the edge of her collarbone – panting heavily.

“That’s it. That’s it.” He soothes. “You’re so beautiful when you come, Gin.” He whispers, kissing the hickey repeatedly. “God, I love you. I love you so much.”

The scent of her sweat mixes with the aroma of her shampoo and Mike inhales it all in.

Her weight slumps forward – her arms wrap around his shoulders, trembling with the rest of her. Mike drags his fingers out of her. Her cum over his fingers, cools against the ambient air. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks. She watches him taste her, those dark, dilated eyes fixed on his actions; her hair is wilder – messier, sticking up on ends like it’s defying gravity; her skin is flushed a unique shade of red. 

Mike shifts uncomfortably as his cock shivers. He wraps an arm around her to support her, leans back with her weight against the couch, cradling her ass to make it comfortable for her to snuggle against him when he cuddled her tight, stroking spine gently, easing her through the aftershocks.

Her lips close around his earlobe. Something like an electric shock runs through him when her teeth graze it. “Say it again.” She whispers.

“I love you.” He replies.

Her tongue flicks against his ear – her husky voice sounding higher pitched, softer in the overtones. “Again.” She demands.

His cock spasms.  He wasn’t sure if it was her tongue or her voice. “I love you.” He repeats.

“Again.” She demands.

“I love you.” He acquiesces. 

"Again."

"I love you."

She sighs and leans back. Mike feels like someone’s stuffed cotton inside his senile brain. He chokes at the sight of her like that – topless, in his lap – those nipples inviting to be sucked. His cock is upright begging for her.

Ginny reaches between them – he sighs and throws his head back, shifting up as she edges backwards undoing his jeans and fly. Mike groans with relief and he helps her push his jeans down. His obscenely hard erection springs out when she tugs his jeans and underwear down at once.

Her gasp is loud and surprise evident.

“Oh.” She swallows hard. “My.”

When her eyes meet his, she looks – daunted.

Mike feels a surge playfulness. “What’s the matter, Baker.” He taunts. “Never seen a dick this white or this big?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and she gingerly hops off his lap and drops to her knees. She’s still gawping at his cock. Mike can swear he sees a little tremor in her hand when she reaches for him. It’s like she’s almost scared to touch him. He widens his knees. She kneel walks into the wider space, edging closer – her touch is as hesitant as she is.

“So…” She speaks, hesitantly. “That’s real.”

Mike’s body shakes and his cock sways with it when he sputters with laughter.

“Was there ever a doubt?” He chuckles.

“Well you are, _kind of_ a show off.”

“I’ve got something to show off.” He declares, pointing to his erection, giving her his best shit-eating grin.

The blush from her orgasm hasn’t left her face. She’s trying to be all blasé but Mike knows she’s just covering up her nervousness. Mike holds his breath as she runs a fingertip over the ridge over his shaft. His next joke dies in his throat at her thumb teases the head.

“Relax, Ginny.” He says, patting her head. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Ginny moistens her lip, looking up at him curiously.

“I don’t do this, often.” She says.

“What grab a dude’s dick?” Mike jokes. “Gosh! I hope not!”

She doesn’t take the bait. She’s looking up at him with caution and then shakes her head. “No, I mean…this.” She hesitantly leans forward and without preamble drags the tip of her tongue over the base of his cock. Mike’s hips lurch up. His eyes roll shut. A short burst of heat shoots through his system.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He groans – keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Without engaging in any further banter, Ginny opens her mouth wide and takes him in.

His mind goes blank and vision goes white as she sucks him. Mere minutes of her hot, wet mouth on him and his painfully hard cock gives in, with zero time to for him to coach her through it.

For some reason, he thinks of autumn leaves when he comes. Of the hectic beauty of death

When his vision clears, his member is still pulsing out, slowly – and she’s gently stroking his softening cock almost pacifically.

“For Fuck’s sake! Ginny!” He bellows. (Because –yeah! He fucking came... _all over her face_!).

She's observing his face – unperturbed and curious. She's not grossed out at all. She wipes off a splatter of his cum from her eyebrow with the heel of her pitching hand - just keeps gaping at him with wonderment.

“Again.” She says - with a big smile. 

Mike half-laughs, half groans and throws his head back, sighs loudly and looks up at the ceiling.

There's a big fat grin on his face when he finally gathers his voice. “I love you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had two options. just thank you all individually for your love and efforts you take to review.  
> OR this.

“Tell me about Mike.” The Doc said.

Ginny had been yapping on about her mother. She had no idea where ‘Mike’ came from.

The clubhouse wasn’t the same after he left. Ginny hovered by habit around his chair, she frequented his napping spots, she moped over his empty locker. Even with Blip as acting captain there was a general lull in the mood. The energy was lost. The bickering, whining, squabbling worsened – everything seemed disorganized in general.

Ginny did what she always did in such situations. She channelled it into her game. She was getting better at base running. She was developing smoother techniques with the off-speed pitches.

Why did the Doc wanted to talk about Mike? His absence was not affecting her game. Not in theory, at least.

“He is a significant influence on your life.” Doc said, like she sensed Ginny’s query. “How do you feel now that he’s gone?”

Ginny remained silent. 

“How does it feel?”

 _Lost, vulnerable, exposed.._. "I dunno." She shrugged.

“If you had a choice between Livan as your catcher and…”

“Mike.” She blurted, before the Doc could finish.

Doc nodded – a blink-and-miss smirk flashed on her face. 

“I’m angry he walked out on us.” Ginny said. (Except – it was a lie. She was angry that he walked out on _her_.)

“Is that all?”

“His reasons made sense.” Ginny shrugged. “Blip and I were together in the minors. He moved up as soon as he got called. I felt terrible then. I guess, it’s the way the wheel turns.”

“But, it’s different with Mike.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” The Doc says, looking at her sympathetically. “Your face changes...every time we mention him.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Ginny dropped her head. “I don’t know what he was – _is_! He was my mentor, my captain, my teammate – he was – _is_ \- my friend. He’s - ” She trailed off.

“Is that all?”

“No.” Ginny said.

Ginny’s first love – was an illusion. The hero of her life and man on her wall.  The image she carried imploded, in seconds. His voice wafted through a connecting air duct from the _Padres_ shower area into her bathroom: _“C’mon! She’s a gimmick. She’s the dwarf who played for the St. Louis Giants!”_

Her inner teenager was in a world of hurt, then. The pressure was unbearable. Thoughts of Pop were haunting her like some ghost. Will wasn’t there to ease the stress she faced. She felt like a freak show, Mike was an idea from her past that she held on to for comfort, and – poof! Ashes.

Bias was nothing new. (Heck. Even Blip looked at her strange when they first met.) She had been judged and discriminated against all her life. So, she didn’t hold it against Mike.

And that was that.

And then, a new person arose from the ashes of that illusion. An asshole maybe, but a leader. _Her_ leader. _Her_ naysayer, _her_ teammate. _Her_ pigheaded detractor and _her_ fiercest supporter.

Not an illusion – but, a man.

Human. Complex. Real.

And, she was drawn to him, all over again. Slowly. Unwittingly. The pull of a gargantuan force that superseded youthful infatuation. It was for the most part, friendship; some parts, respect, and infinite parts…of something undefinable.

(So. No. That is _not_ all.)

When Ginny thinks it over logically, her resentment over his departure was as unfair as it was unjustified.

He was with the Padres for at least, fifteen years. He gave the game, the team, the captaincy - his all. No one was oblivious to the rumours on the decisions in the front office. Lynchpin decisions that masterminded his ultimate exit. Him leaving the team for self-seeking pursuits was something she ought to respect him for. Something, he would expect her to emulate in the future.

But logic carried her only thus far - Ginny could not form words for how empty she felt after Mike left. It felt worse than when Tommy was traded. If felt worse than when Jordan moved away. It was the closest to most soul-shredding emotion she had – since knowing that Pop was gone.

“Ginny?” The Doc asked her, pulling her from her thoughts. She spoke slowly. “How. Do. You. Feel?”

Devastated. That’s how she felt.

(From the time, since she learned of his exit – right up until then, she had been numb all around. She, who was, usually, the first to bawl at goodbyes. Yet, with Mike, she didn’t know how to feel.

It felt like he was taking a chunk of her when he left.

Her eyes were dry – even at their last goodbye.)

Silent tears slipped from Ginny’s eyes.

“Okay.” The Doc said. “That’s a start.”

 

* * *

 

 

_If it doesn’t hurt, Mami, it’s not love._

That’s a recurring tagline to the Baker-Duarte show. It’s repeated at a frequency that renders it less sad, less cynical, less calamitous.

On the rare occasion, Duarte displays vulnerability, Ginny is the only one privy to them.

(It seemed cold and harsh to her, at first: his casual, unaffected attitude to leaving family and girlfriend behind on island a hundred miles away. She considered his declaration of never going past flirting, at face value. Especially, when she saw him taking off with the groupies at bars, so frequently.

He was a man after all. Ginny’s learned earlier on that men say one thing and do another.)

Two weeks, after Mike left for Chicago, Livan showed up at her hotel room. Drunk, looking at her like a parched man and she was the tall drink of water.

(Ginny knew that look all, too well. If she didn’t have her wits about her, she would be obsessing over how attractive he was – despite his dishevelled state, he looked cute, sexy – even.)

She stopped him at the door.

“No.” Was all she said.

He was confused, like he didn’t understand her implication. “I don’t want to fuck, Mami” He stated, after a few minutes. “I swear, on my Mama’s life. I just cannot be alone, right now.”

“No.” She warned.

“I promise you, I will not touch you.” He insisted, looking at her with torment in his eyes that shook her to the bone. “I have no friends, _Mami_.” He pleaded.

It was a shaky whisper, that hit her in the chest. Ginny let him in, warily. Even though she was covered in a long-sleeved tee and sweatpants, she grabbed the bathrobe and donned it. If push came to shove, she knew it would be no hindrance for a sexual encounter, but, for that moment it felt like another layer to hide her body.

“Please order some food.” He said, looking like he wanted to hurl.

She did and they waited in silence until room service came. Twenty minutes of saying nothing, watching him sink the floor and keeping his head between his knees. She fetched the tray herself; signed for it at the door. He didn’t even get up off the floor when she handed it to him. She made him some coffee while he ate. She crouched in a fetal position on a chair, at the far edge of the room when he was done. He downed two bottles of water and then groaned out.

“Isabella.” Was all he said.

Oh.

“Something happen?”

“I…” He looked up at her with a despondent face. “I – I almost cheated on her, tonight.”

“Oh.” Ginny nodded.

“It’s not the sex.” He swatted his hand out. “I hate being away from her. I hate not having her body beside me.”

Ginny didn’t know what to do with that information, so she stayed quiet.

“Everyone here.” He said. “They _want_ me but they don’t want _me_. _Tu entiendes_?”

And, with that one brief statement, Ginny was finally convinced that his whole flirtatious, impenetrably cocky persona was all bluster. All an act – just, like her public personality.

“You dance, you flirt…but that’s it.” She repeated the words from memory. “You miss her.”

He moistened his lips and smiled at her, genuinely. He had very sweet dimples, Ginny thought. She imagined what Isabella’s pain might have been like to lose him.

“You have baseball.” She offered. “What does she have? She didn’t even get a goodbye.”

“That’s what worries me, sometimes, _Mami_.” He said, in a soft voice. Then he said something in Spanish that she didn’t understand.  

“Huh?”

He seemed to realize his folly and made an apologetic smirk. “What if.” He said. “ – She hates me. I mean, she always said to go when I had my chance. But – it sucks that she will never know how much it hurt for me to do that…” He taps his chest. “In here.”

“I’m sure she understands.”

“If she did the same to me.” Livan said. “I would not forgive her. I would die from the pain.”

“That’s unfair.”

“I know. It’s why I – I worry. And also because…”

“Because?”

“She’s smart, she’s beautiful. I’m worried she will realize she deserves better, now that I’m gone.”

Ginny had never been in a position where she was supposed to console anyone. She had always been the youngest child, the baby-sister, the rookie, the tagalong – (and heck! Mike couldn’t have put it any better than when he called her a duckling).

She was always the one being advised, comforted, guided.

This was new territory for her.

For some, inexplicable reason, she longed for Mike. She wished he’d been here. He always knew what to say. Even if he hated Duarte’s ass, he was always the better, wiser person when it came to being compassionate.

“Tell me about her?” Is all Ginny came up with.

“I was thirteen, she was twelve.” He started.

“Wow.” Ginny blinked. “That’s a long time to be in love.”

“Actually, we knew each other since pre-school.”

Ginny laughed. 

“I crashed a homer into her kitchen window. Almost killed her.”

“Romantic.” Ginny commented.

“Yes, she was cooking. The ball landed straight into the salsa. It was not only boiling, it was spicy. Nearly burned her face off.” 

Ginny grimaced.

He laughed nostalgically. Ginny marvelled how adorable his dimples were. He sighed and then shook his head. “She has the most beautiful face.”

Ginny believed him.

“She taught me English.” He said, wistfully.

She saw tears in his eyes. Her heart ached for him – but she was not about to hug a virile, somewhat drunk man who just a few minutes ago, admitted to almost cheating on his girlfriend because he was lonely.

“D’you know something?” He sighed, and then met Ginny’s eyes.

She tipped her chin up at him, expectantly.

“She hates baseball.” He stated.

That surprised her. She snorted and started to chuckle. He joined her.

They didn’t say anything for a while.

He looked around at her hotel room, at her things strewn about and then looked at her quizzically. “How long have you been living here?”

“Three months.” She shrugged.

“You don’t want a place of your own?”

“I won’t be able to take care of it.” She said, matter-of-factly.

He nodded and said nothing.

“Papi?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry – it’s so difficult for you.” She said.

Livan sighed resignedly. “If it doesn’t hurt, Mami,” He said. “It’s not love.”

 

* * *

 

 

_(“I’m in love with you.” says Mike Lawson.)_

 

There’s no dearth of people ready to fall in love with her.  (It doesn’t matter that they fall in love with the _image_ of her. The point is there’s no shortage.)

Even with Ginny’s hard and fast code of not dating players, she’s subconsciously always known that only someone who shared as deep a connection with the sport, could ever relate to her. Baseball was never going to leave her system.

That’s why Trevor was _supposed_ to be her love. The closest thing to a bond, that wasn’t entirely based on the sport but still not exclusive of it – physically and emotionally. He was an intelligent man. (She was too young and too naïve to see, how intelligent he was, nevertheless -) He tapped into her need for a connection, granted some peace to her restless soul, for a brief while. She loved him with every available space of her heart. She believed that he was in love with her, too.

Contrary to what most people think, Ginny’s not clueless. Teammates or players falling for her is commonplace. She’s made a habit of being one step ahead. Forcefully shuts the cans of worms, they might want to open. Dismisses their interest as infatuation– lies that she’s committed, if she must. 

Love-struck player faces are no different from the plethora of suitors, and admirers she meets elsewhere. They all echo that sappy, sighing countenance – interest and desire in their eyes - entranced wistful smiles. Sometimes, Ginny can’t tell one from the other. She has no choice but to ignore it. Pretend not to know.

But. With Mike. With Mike, she didn’t know. She couldn’t even imagine it.

_(“I’m in love with you.” He says.)_

Funny. He doesn’t even sound like a man in love. He sounds like a man tormented, wasted, exhausted – in pain.

(Human, complex. Real. A man.)

 _“If it doesn’t hurt, Mami…”_ Livan says…

 _…it’s not love,_ she answers, to herself.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you like it?” Livan asked her.

“Huh?”

“ _Ay_! _Mami_!” He chided. “Come back to San Diego, huh?”

(Mike was on her mind. Mike was in her dreams. Mike was on her TV, tablet, phone and computer screens. Mike was in Chicago. But, he was all around her.)

It wasn’t helping the cause of the hour.

Ginny looked around the vacant space and shrugged. It was bigger, more stylish, and better constructed than that crummy apartment she’d rented while in Texas. It wasn’t homey, or inviting. She hated the walls because it reminded them of her hotel room. 

But whatever. It’s not like _she_ had to live there.

(Becoming his buddy, was inevitable. When Livan didn’t have his head up his ass, he was funny and social.

They were both outliers. They were both strangers, both rookies – both had a lot to prove, both had barriers to break and stereotypes to destroy.

Blip and Evelyn had their own lives and there was only so much she could impose on them. Everyone else had their own families. Mike was the only lonely soul she had leaned towards, but after that whole Amelia thing, there was an invisible fracture that never had time to reseal. He’d grown grouchy and distant as soon as they called up Livan – and Ginny felt his withdrawal from her, well before, he announced the trade to the _Cubs._

Mike may have disapproved of Livan, but Ginny noted that he always kept pushing her in his direction. _“He’s your catcher, trust him.”_

She didn’t trust Livan, at first – nonetheless. If he was an asshole and punk to the others, he was way too friendly with her. Right at the outset.

And then, there was the matter of Mike. Ginny wasn’t an idiot not to perceive the resentful envy in Mike’s eyes whenever he looked or talked to the younger catcher. She was reluctant to bond with his replacement. It was odd. She felt like she was disappointing him; she felt she was being disloyal. 

Now, with Mike gone, she didn’t feel that inhibition, so much.)

“Hey, if you like it, I like it.” She offered.

“ _Mamacita_.” He said. “If you don’t like it, then it’s a no.”

“What does it matter what I think?”

“Because, you’re gonna be my roommate.” He said, casually. As thought it was some sort of unspoken understanding – except Ginny didn’t get the memo.

She threw her had back and laughed for three straight minutes.

He didn’t laugh, though. Didn’t even smile. He – in fact looked a little offended that she didn’t take him seriously. Ginny sobered up. For once, she was in a situation where she could make a decision.

Just for herself.

 

It was a bad idea. But oddly, enough. Every other player in the clubhouse who was not Blip Sanders, was totally cool with it. Some even offered to help her with the move. They all had a unanimous opinion - all expressed in some variant of: “We don’t care that you two wanna room. Good on you. No hanky panky. If he touches you, we kill him.”

Problem was - Amelia was unhappy. Oscar was unhappy. Blip was unhappy. Al was unhappy.

Amelia’s reasons: “PR nightmare, gender politics, sexual implications and yeah – Duarte’s a playboy. He’ll flirt. He’ll make moves on you. It can’t be good for your career.”

Oscar’s reasons were: “PR nightmare, gender politics, potential harassment lawsuits. He’ll flirt. He’ll make moves on you. It can’t be good for your career.”

Blip was unhappy because: “Ginny, he’s a player. On and off the field. He’ll flirt. He’ll make moves on you. It can’t be good for your career.” He couldn’t complete the list because Evelyn shut him down.

Poor Al was unhappy because: “I’m an old-fashioned guy. He’s a man. Nothing’s sacred to men. They flirt. They make moves on you. I’ll prove it to ya - my daughter is sleeping with Oscar, did you know that? No? Good! I didn’t know that, either. Until she decides to move in with him and tells me _after_. See, I told ya? Nothin’ is sacred to men.” (She doesn’t point out that Al is a man, too)

It ought to have been enough to shut the idea down but…she couldn’t.

Her support, came from the unlikeliest source. Ginny went into a session, hoping the Doc would help her get some clarity.

“I think it’s a _great_ idea!” The Doc said, much to Ginny’s surprise. “You can’t live out of duffle bags and hotels, forever. It would be good for you to have some experience of a normal twenty-something. Your own space is a good step. Taking care of a routine that’s your own is a step forwards. I think the people who manage your time get too much free access to you at the hotel.” The Doc said.

The Doc meant Amelia.

“But Duarte’s a flirt.” Ginny said.

“How strong are your sexual feelings for him?” The Doc asked, plainly.

“Er.” Ginny thought over it. “Well, he’s hot.” Ginny pointed out. She didn’t feel awkward admitting it to the Doc – because that was a universal truth. The Doc nodded, like she agreed with her on a personal level.

There was one thing she learned in that moment though. “Y’know Doc, I just realized something.” She said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m flattered – y’know, when he flirts and does his whole _Amor-Mami_ thing, but…” She looked up at the doc, with an embarrassed expression. “I’m not really into him.”

“That’s okay. Why do you feel so guilty about it?”

“He’s really hot.” Ginny stated, grumpily. “What a waste.”

The Doc agreed with a nod again, and a little chuckle.

“What about the other way around?” The Doc asked. “Do you think he might be into you?”

“I don’t know. He flirts a lot.”

“You say that he’s firm he on not wanting to complicate things. Do you believe him?”

Ginny shrugged.

“He claims to like you as a friend. It seems that it’s the same for you.”

Ginny nodded.

“Do you have doubts about his intentions?”

Trevor came to mind, but Ginny didn't want to talk about him. She sighed. “No guarantees in life, right?”

“Look, this is what I think." The Doc said. "He’s closer to your age. You have trust issues with other people your age – and no one can fault you for that. But, your situation is unique. You already share a trust relationship with him because he’s your catcher. Baseball and…the _Padres_ are clearly important to you both. You seem less stressed around him. And – we must be honest about the double standards. If you two were the same gender – this would mostly be a non-issue.”

Ginny nodded.

“Besides, you’re only rooming together. Sharing the rent and expenses, right? Do you think you could handle it, in case things do get complicated?”

Ginny shook her head, instantly. “I’m not stupid, okay Doc? Nope – no way.”

“I’ll talk to Oscar and Mr. Luongo.” The Doc assured her. “But I need a promise.”

“Yeah, anything.”

“In case your affection for Livan gets serious – Ginny – I have to know, okay?”

“Doc!” Ginny rolled her eyes.

“That’s all I’m asking.” The Doc looked sombre.

Ginny nodded.

“So, now that that’s out of the way.” The Doc sighed. “Are you ready to talk about Mike Lawson?”

Ginny wasn’t.

“You have to come to terms with it.”

“It’s not affecting me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I miss him, that’s all.”

“Is it, though?”

It wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny washes off her face and chest at the kitchen sink and wipes it with dishtowel. His cum feels thick and doesn’t wash off without soap. The few drops that surprised her mouth, tasted bitter and salty.

(Whatever. She’s just going to have to get used to it. She _wants_ to feel that monstrosity on her tongue. Again.)

_Fuck._

It’s Fall. It’s nippy. The water’s cold. That’s why she shivers. She most definitely is _not_ aroused. Nope, she’s wearing nothing except for shorts. _That’s_ , why she shivers. (Not the sensations wrought. That solid, velvet feel of his thick dick in her mouth; it’s weight against her tongue.)

She gulps. Her nipples stiffen.

Strictly speaking, she can just _look_ at his dick again. All she needs to do is turn around and face him. He _is_ standing behind her. She can even hear his grunts and sighs as he cleans himself up.

She just can’t, though, turn around and look. She’s not shy. Nope. She’s just –

It’s him. It’s this – image she has of him.

Him. Unravelled.

There’s an absurd decadence in visualizing him. She felt the rumble of that booming growl all the way in her bones – the power in those strong thighs, inadvertently knocking her jaw when his hips came off the couch– the throbbing pulse, the way it shuddered - spurts of release that took her by surprise...

It was beautiful, and intriguing. It was…

…magnificent.

She shivers. Again. 

She sighs, grabs the edge of the sink, letting the stinging cold shock some sense into her.

There’s rustling behind her and Ginny feels him move away. She bundles the dishtowel into a ball, making it an excuse to keep her arms crossed over her nipples before she turns around to check on him.

But he’s already back. He’s flapping his shirt over her shoulders. It’s big (like him), and feels warm (like him) and smells of sweat and cologne (like him). It’s long enough to fall over the hem of her shorts and wide enough to approximate over the breadth of her crossed arms with room to spare.

He’s looking at her with a fond, caring expression when he tabs the buttons into their holes, bundling her into the warmth of his shirt. It’s – it’s overwhelming.

She wrings her dishcloth warily, looking at the floor. He has big feet, she sees – with club shaped toes. She tries to recall when he removed his shoes and socks, and then for some reason her mind flashes her the image of his engorged dick in her hands and –

The towel slips from her hands, slips out from under his shirt, and topples to the floor.

Ginny looks up at him then.

He’s completely uninhibited under her gaze, like traipsing around completely naked is no biggie. He leans back against the counter across her, folding his big arms as he regards her, comfortable and unaffected, when she scans him.

(That look in his eyes when he took her nipple into his mouth. The feel of his fuzzy beard abrading against her skin.)

He’s big and wide. He’s lost some fat after going to Chicago. There’s only a hint of a paunch over a visible six pack, just a hint of flab hanging over those hip creases. Maybe, if she palms over the back of his ribs, she might find a itty bitty love handles. Overall, though, everything’s muscle.

Big, bulky muscle.

(She remembers how hard his ass felt under her palm when she slapped it – months ago, when they’d first met. Hard – and tight.

She imagines the power channelling through his glutes when he rams into her – )

Ginny’s jaw drops a little. She feels warm, and sensitive.

 _Goddammit -_ she feels straightjacketed under his shirt. She wiggles her arms to she can shove them into the sleeves, decides that she needs to stop thinking about him fucking her. She distracts herself by looking at his abs. Her eyes trail down that wispy patch of hair that merges with that thick patch of brown shorter, thicker, curls; at the limp, size-heavy member.

(This is Mike.

_Shit!_

Like this is her captain, her teammate, her battery mate. Even if they’re no longer on the same team, that’s not something she can forget. She can’t be staring at his dick and not feel strange.

This is really going to happen.

Ginny feels so utterly unprepared.)

She jerks a gaze upwards - focuses on a freckle on his shoulder. It seems a reasonable enough thing to stare at while contemplating on – nothing. (Except, now she wants to lick that freckle.)

“Do you want me to leave?” He breaks the silence.

 _What?_ “No!” She says, quickly, snapping her eyes to meet his. His hazel eyes look gold in the dim light of her bedroom. His cheekbones lift when he smiles at her, the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

“No!” She repeats, louder. “Stay!”

He lifts his eyebrows at that; his eyes twinkle with amusement. That thrill passes through her, again.

 “So, we should probably go to er...” She says, awkwardly, gesticulating to her room. “My roomie’s gonna be back soon. And there’s, y’know…” She shrugs. “The rules.”

Those adorable furrows appear on his forehead. “What rules?” He asks.

“Oh!” She rolls her eyes, sighing with relief that she has something else to think about. “Papi-“ She starts, by habit but, she notices his eyebrows flinch and his expression harden. Ginny rephrases. “I mean - Livan and I, have some ground rules.”

Mike has a deadpan expression on his face. He’s looking at her intently, like he’s trying to read her facial expressions. She watches his jaw clench before he nods, slowly.

She’s at a loss for words, then. The distrust in his eyes when she mentions Livan - it unsettles her.

“What is it?” Mike says.

“Huh?”

“The rule.”  

“Oh!” She says. “No sex and nudity in the common areas.” She smiles, weakly, looking at the couch.

( _Shit_! She is never going to be able to look at that couch the same again!)

“Doesn’t sound like something _Papi_ would come up with.” 

(The bitter way in which he says _‘Papi’_ isn’t lost on her.) “Yeah, it’s um…” She huffs. “It’s my rule.”

Mike blinks, suddenly. His face changes dramatically and he tilts his head. There’s a playful smile in his eyes. “Really?” He says, slowly.

(Why is he looking at her like that? She feels naked – except, she’s not.)

“Yeah.” She says, averting her glance.

“Hmm.” Is his reply.

She’s expecting irritation when she shifts her eyes back to him. Instead, there’s a mischievous look. He pushes away from the counter and crosses the distance.

“No sex and nudity, you say?” He says, his eyes darkening.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Have you met Livan?” She shoots him a pointed look.

He surprises her with a wry smile.

“You broke your own rule, Baker.” He says, mocking innocent worry. If she didn’t note the half-dilated pupils, she’d probably have believed his concern.

“FYI,” She mumbles, meaning to remind him of her ‘no hooking up with ballplayers’ code. “I’ve sort of broken a lot of my own rules in general, toni _gh-mmf!_.”

Her words are muffled against his mouth.

Ginny sighs loud – like, pornstar loud. He presses his lower body against her. She feels his dick hardening against her stomach. His tongue is _so_ – so hot. It does the most wonderful things to her mouth. Ginny licks back – keeps urging until he lets her suck on his tongue. He hums out an approving sound.

She rises on the balls of her toes to level with his face, rubbing the flat of her tongue against his, slipping her palms over his chest (– and _fuck_! his muscles are so firm and his skin is so soft. She could run her hands over him all day, is all she’s saying.) She whimpers and pushes her body to line his. His big hands cover her ass.

Ginny fancies his grip over the swell of her bum, a lot.

He clenches his fist and she huffs louder – feeling warm and hot in her lower body. There’s a tightly wound knot forming in her stomach when he palms over her shorts, tilting his head sideways as they make out. He ducks a little to gather her ass in his arms.

She makes a small yelp when he hoists her up and rests her bottom against the steel edge of the sink. The caress of his warm hands ease the cold singeing through her ass. She rolls her hips out and wraps her thighs around his – bare skin on bare skin.

“I love your ass.” He mutters into her mouth, groping and massaging it as he speaks.

She widens her thighs and gasps as his erection rubs against the crotch of her shorts. He drags the tip of his tongue over her lower lips and closes his teeth over it, painlessly.

“What’s the fine?” He murmurs.

“Mmm?”

“For breaking the rules.” He kisses his way down the corner of her mouth, ghosting his mouth on her cheekbones.

Her voice is stuck in her throat. Ginny opens her eyes and looks up at the ceiling. She tries to focus on a chipped patch of paint when he clamps his mouth over the pulse point in her neck. That knot in her stomach’s getting unbearably hot now – and her cunt clenches.

“I dunno.” She says, distracted. “ _I’ve_ never broken the rules before.”

“First time for everything, huh, Baker?” His voice is low, and sounds very – vibey. It hits pleasure points in her body that she didn’t even know existed.  He skates his tongue up the length of her neck. Heat floods her body; she squirms, arching her breasts up towards his chest – her stiff nipples chafing against the fabric of his shirt.

“Talk to me, Baker…” His otherwise low-toned voice, sounds a little pitchy. “Should I suck your tits some more?”

Ginny squeaks; her mouth goes dry. His hands leave her ass. He fondles her breast under his shirt, scooping them with the fabric, squeezing them together. She smacks her lips.

“You mean.” She whimpers, meeting his hungry gaze. “As a fine?”

Mike’s pupils dilate further. He ducks down, and bites over his shirt. Her pussy clenches and she tightens her legs, pulling him in closer.

She snaps her arms back, holding the granite edges of the sink for support, jutting her upper body out as he unbuttons the shirt (really, now. It was futile to have buttoned it up in the first place).

He’s studying her face as he undoes the buttons only half way – just up to her stomach. She scoops an exposed breast and holds it for him. He smirks at her and then leans down.

 _Hot damn!_ If the idea alone made her salivate– the works are just – magic. The way Mike nurses at her boobs – it’s – it’s like a party.

She releases her boob, insinuates her hand between them. He grunts and shoves his dick into her hand. He’s stiff but not entirely. She moans and grunts, trying to stroke him up; trying to shift the balance of power towards her favour, because it seems unfair that he gets to arouse her so easily and she can barely…

( _Oh wow_. There he goes!)

Mike jerks his head away with a curse and straightens up. His hands fly to the sides of her hips.  His eyes are closed and from the way the furrows in his brow form and relax, almost in concert with his hands clenching over her bum, it seems like the arousal is hitting him in surges.

“Or maybe this, as a fine…?” She tries the dirty talk. It sounds feeble and completely unsexy when she speaks with that wimpy voice. “What say, your honour?”

“Shit!” He hisses – Ginny feels his dick go completely rigid in her palm.

“Ooh! Curse word! Twenty dollars!” She dares him.

His eyes snap open. His pupils are blown. His grip on her ass relaxes. Ginny tilts her head forward and bites his earlobe. He shoves his dick towards her again, lining it up and down against her palm for friction.

“Not my courthouse, rookie.” He groans, thrusting against her fist, dropping his head into her shoulder.

Ginny breathes sharply when he presses his lips find that stinging hickey in the crook of her neck. “’M not your rookie, any more.” She croaks out.

“Thank goodness for that.” He growls and pulls back. “Come this side.” He orders, motioning for her to shift towards the granite side of the sink. He’s bunches the shirt up about her waist. She grabs the waist band of her shorts and starts rolling it down.

He stops her with a shake of his head.

“No – I wanna do this.” He says.

“Do what?”

“This,” he murmurs, and hooks his fingers into her shorts and her panties together. Ginny doesn’t know what the big deal is.

She grabs the edges of the counter and waits. When he bends his spine, she hears his vertebrae crack trickily, followed by his groan. She’d make a verbal argument for it, except he’s kissing over her stomach and licks a patch of skin above her hipbone, driving her brain into a tizzy. She butterflies her hips wide – placing her soles on the sides of his ass, allowing him to yank her shorts and underwear down over her thighs.

There’s really nothing great about her pussy to for him to be gasping about. But. He does.

He’s just looking down at her with a blank expression, an open mouth, and wide eyes. He doesn’t really say or do anything except step back when she shimmies; her shorts and panties slip down her legs to her ankle forming a circle at her toes. She steps out and toes them away.

It’s impossible to discern what’s on his mind.

She’s never been self-conscious about her ladyparts, but now that he’s here – just staring at her lower body…for a second, she wonders if there’s some sort of female body part ranking system that she’s failing at. That thought is tossed out as soon as he grins.

“Turn around.” He says, gruffly. “Lemme see your ass.”

Ginny spins, leaning her stomach over the countertop. She starts to giggle at his louder gasp. He pets the small of her back, over the flare of her hips and he squeezes her ass cheeks together.

“Fuck!” He exclaims and pinches at her flesh. “Your _ass,_ Gin…!” He mutters.

She giggles, dropping her chin; she’s a whole mix of arousal and amusement.

(She’s dreamt about his face down there. She won’t admit it, though.)

“Yours isn’t too bad, either.” She laughs, folding her elbows over the flat surface, and bending forwards, rising on her toes.

“What are you doing wasting these fine babies in baseball, hmm?” He sounds downright roguish. He grabs them both – she feels a jiggle. It’s cute and pervy at the same time. 

She shrieks out with laughter when she feels his bite.

“What would you prefer, huh?” She squeals with laughter, squirming as he nips her ass cheeks. “Porn actress? Pole dancer? Stripper?” She hears a low growl when she starts with the list of adult industry prospects. Her lower body tightens and her next jibe dies in her throat with an “Ah!”. He straightens, slaps his erect dick into her middle, rubbing it up and down in the cleft – like he’s chastising her.

“You wanna spank me, now?” She tosses her head back and challenges him. He shoves his erection up, lining it against the seam of her pussy. His dick is warm and…nice.

“Can I?” He says, looking unequivocally excited and hopeful,  sounding like an eager kid, asking to play with a new toy. Ginny throws her head back and laughs some more. “Okay!” She giggles.

Ginny half-gasps, half laughs when his hand slaps her skin. It doesn’t hurt. But. By fuck – Ginny feels a wave of heat and pleasure fill pool in her centre.

She moans.

“Fuck! Ginny!” She hears him exclaim. He sounds astonished.

Ginny shakily props herself up on her elbows and looks back at him “Thank you, Captain.” She purrs out. “May I have another?”

He narrows his darkened eyes and smacks her rump, again – earning a gurgle of chuckles from her end. She twists around to get a look at his face. He’s gaping at her bottom like he’s stuck in a trance or something.

He meets her eyes, with a silent request. 

Ginny eyes his dick – thick, upright. _Yeah_. That’s –going to hurt but – she can’t wait to feel it splitting her wide. She’s not inexperienced with biggish dicks, nor is she made of glass - even though, Mike keeps looking at her like he thinks, otherwise.

She nods, casually.

He surprises her by dropping to his knees. That loud grunt he makes – belies pain. He grimaces, catching the thigh above the side that she knows is more damaged.

“Wha-!” She half turns, rolling back on her feet, straightening up. “Mike! Your knees!”

“I’ll live.” He wheezes, adjusting himself, bracing the sides of her hips as his breathing stabilizes.

“What are you -?” Ginny almost turns around fully, but he grabs her waist and forces her to turn her posterior to him.

“What?” He cracks. “Never been eaten from behind before?” He asks.

 _Oh_. “Yeah, once.” She says. ( _Trevor_ , she doesn’t say.)

His hands press up against the inside of her thighs. She splays her legs out, moistening her lips, her eyes fixed at the tiles on the backsplash wall.

“Seriously!” He sounds genuinely surprised. Like when she told him she’d never relief-pitched before, only – more intrigued. “Just once? With these beauties?”

She ensures that he sees her pointed eye-roll before she bends forward, jutting her lower body out. He’s giving her a cocky lopsided smirk. Ginny sucks her breath as face disappears. His hot, _wet_ tongue licks a long stripe over her –

-well. Fuck.

The entire length of her.

_Fuck! Ohfuckfuckfuck!_

Ginny’s front slumps over the counter. The groan she lets out – its whiny, high pitched and feral. His shirt is no defence against the icy chill of the granite. It’s a stark contrast to that hot coil – of something -  swirling around in her stomach, sending paroxysmal fire southwards. She feels the shock vibrate right down to her toes. She feels him shift lower, shackling her thighs in his arms, widening her out.

His beard grates against her skin when he licks and runs his tongue over her folds. She spasms, groans out strident, breathy cries; she grapples over the cold granite surface – desperate for something to hold. 

Ginny wonders if this is what possession feels like. Being aware of one thrashing about - unable to control one’s actions.  Her spine arches back so she can twist her pitching arm back to grab his head. She feels him slap her arm away. He grabs her quivering knees, lifting her higher – getting deeper access. His tongue hits at her like a soft, warm, wet, vibrator. He teases her clit and the brim of her cunt, mercilessly – until she’s reduced to a repetitive chant: “Oh Mike. Oh fuck. Oh please. Oh Yes.”

That hot spiral builds progressively and then it explodes within her lower body. Her toes come off the ground, her body lurches in some unknown direction – a stab of cold pain hits her skull and cheekbone - she doesn’t know what it is. She feels everything and nothing.

He doesn’t stop – keeps lapping up at her. When his head appears in her side vision, Ginny surmises that her face is stuck to the flat granite surface.

 “Did you like that?” She hears. (He sounds more smug than curious.)

“Mmhmm.” She squeaks an affirmative. When her body registers all sensations again, she’s somewhat aware of his rough palms polishing her sweaty back and curling over her ass, every now and then. When she looks at him through her lashes, she can somewhat make a triumphant grin on his face and that his beard is glistening with her cum.

She wants to reach her hand out and slap that stupid grin off his face. That smug beautiful asshole.

Ginny giggles lazily, keeps her face plastered to the cold countertop – doesn’t move.

She – er - (she laughs, inwardly, because, yeah. nope -) She can’t.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently there is no such thing as too much smut.  
> Intercourse - Livannanigans too in the next chapter. Let me hear it.


	3. Chapter 3

The earpiercing scream that took Livan’s brown eyes by surprise – was hers.

Okay, so rewind.

Ginny was not oblivious to the fact that having a roommate is not always fun and games. She had a roommate in Texas for a few months. A waitress/dancer that Ginny rarely saw – but always heard. Ginny usually went to bed early because her schedule started early – especially in pre-season training and Alli-with-an-I (as Ginny would perpetually know her) was far too adventurous in bed – and _loud._ Ginny needed headphones to sleep – that was how loud and noisy it was.

Bitter from the experience, and liberated to have the freedom to form a rule, Ginny made the first one: “No groupies.” She told Livan, first thing, before she agreed to apartment-share.

“I told you, I don’t plan to cheat on…”

“What if your groupies want Salsa lessons or something?”

“I don’t know the Salsa.” He shrugged. “Mambo, yes or the Rhumba, sure.” He rapped his fist on the connecting wall. “Walls are concrete here, Mami.”

“I happen to like my beauty sleep.” She declared. “If I hear, so much as a peep…”

“No groupies.” He agreed. “Same applies to you, right.”

“Sure.” Ginny said – though it was unnecessary. She still lived by different rules, unlike the boys.

The first morning, Ginny woke up – early. For the first time, in a while, Ginny made the bed; it had been long that it felt weird for her fold the corners in. All free space in the apartment, including her room, was cramped by unopened boxes; it was suffocating. So, she got dressed for a run. She opened the door and ran straight into -

_Livan’s penis!_

Cue the scream.

(So – Ginny’s seen her fair share of naked men and male genitalia. It’s tough to be in a locker room with boys and _not_ get the occasional free show. But. It’s totally different when they’re friends.)

He was so shocked, he squeezed the funny looking sandwich in his hand and some whitish-pink gunk fell on to his – _gross!_

“What...the hell…is wrong with you?” She growled, squeezing her eyes shut and looking away.

“ _Que_?” He shouted back.

“Why are you naked? Do you not own clothes?”

“I sleep naked.”

“Do you have to walk around naked, too?”

“It’s my apartment!”

“And mine!”

“I’m not forcing you to wear clothes!”

“Okay! Rule two!” She hollered, keeping her palm up blocking his view and cutting across the living room to get the hell out of there. “No nudity in the common areas!”

She didn’t bother the wait for a response before she slammed the door.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s pure sex – Mike Lawson. Heat, and muscle – passion and strength. 

(His ass is a thing of beauty, too.) Ginny admires it, follows it with her eyes as he meanders towards the couch.

“So, what other rules you got?” He asks, casually – like he doesn’t have a rigid organ swaying up and down, making some sort of indecent statement at right angles to his body.

“Er...no mixing laundry.” She blurts, wondering how he isn’t at all fazed by how ludicrous this conversation is. 

Even though, she’s low on number and variety of sexual experiences compared to other twenty-three year-olds - (It’s circumstantial. Free time – and free energy are limiting factors for Ginny Baker. Other twenty-three-year-old women aren’t major-league ballplayers trying the break into old boys’ clubs) - most – nope – _all -_ her past relationships were conducted in secret, leaving room mostly for nookie and takeout dates. But, from whatever she does know of men, having an engorged dick like _that,_ cannot mean there’s much blood flowing to the brain.

And yet, Mike Lawson saunters around looking remarkably coherent. (It’s almost like he’s on field. Completely undisturbed by a stressful game. He’s got his head screwed on, not losing his shit, chewing gum to vent frustration – fighting right to the very end to tip the scales in their favour.)

“What else?” He asks.

“No clothes on the floor – of the common areas.” She says.

Ginny straightens up, gingerly. Her bones are mush and she’s leaning on her elbows holding onto the counter for support, just appreciating the view.

She eyes the sexy cut and curve of his bent ass when he retrieves discarded clothing with a loud grunt: his jeans, undershirt – and yeah, even her tank. He drapes them over an arm and looks down at the floor behind the couch.

“What’s the position on shoes?” He looks at her quizzically, then looks at the floor behind the couch.

“Haven’t covered that one, yet.” She says, stifling her giggle.

Mike smirks at her for a long time. Like, he thinks she’s cute or something.

Ginny feels shy suddenly, seeks to distract herself.  She hunches down to pick up her shorts and panties. She kicks the sodden dishtowels to a corner. She pads to the fridge to retrieve a grape soda. Doesn’t miss the fond eye-roll and headshake.

“Do you want a beer?” She asks, shaking away the residual dizziness.

“Nope.”

“I gotta…” She cracks the can open and gulps it down. “Y’know ‘cause of all that…” She says when she takes a little break to breathe and gestures wildly. He keeps looking at her pointedly (so does his erection, in fact). 

She sighs with relief, feeling a whole burst of renewed energy. Glucose flooding receptors or something…point is, she can feel her bones again.

He’s already come up to her by the time she crushes the can and tosses it into the garbage.

“I can whip something up.” He offers.

“Nope.” She stifles a burp. “What are we doing, now?”

He guffaws. Ginny thinks laughter takes years off his face, makes him look adorable in at least five different ways. Ten, if he didn’t have that beard. Not that she minds the beard – in fact – she could use more of that beard in certain sensitive spots.

God, now she’s horny.

“I think that’s pretty obvious.” He’s saying. He fishes out his wallet from his jeans before he takes her crumpled shorts and underwear from her. They join the other clothes flopped over his forearm.

(It feels - oddly domestic or something.

She doesn’t know what it feels like, really. Except that she likes it.)

He extends a free hand to her. She unbuttons down completely and strips off his shirt and tosses it over his arm. 

Mike gawks at her then. Ginny giggles and shrugs. “Oh, didn’t you want your shirt back?” She sasses. She reckons he could use some gum to chew right now.

He sweeps lust filled eyes down her body and back up to her face. He narrows his eyes at her, like on field, when she’s said something he didn’t quite expect to hear and didn’t quite expect to _like_ hearing. He closes his eyes momentarily when his dick jerks up.

“Have to say.” He murmurs. “Looks better on you.”

She giggles and slips her hand into his.

“C’mon.” He says, smiling at her affectionately, leading towards her bedroom.

“No kitchen sex, then?” She pretends to be disappointed (but actually, she’s not. She’s trotting behind him, watching his glorious glutes clench in alternation when he walks and that sight makes her very – _very_ , happy.)

“Wouldn’t want you to break your rules, right?” He states with mock seriousness.

“I think we’ve already broken the rules on nudity – and I’m pretty certain those were sex-related activities in common areas.” She baits him.

He doesn’t bite. Doesn’t even look at her. He just snorts. “Hey!” He sounds acerbic. “Your clubhouse, your rules.”

She snorts.

“Look.” He turns around to face her, at the door to her bedroom. He’s point-blank serious now. “I’m not gonna lie to ya, it’s bad enough he’s your roommate and gets to see you more than I do -  and I’m going to be the adult here, and shut my trap about it. But - I am not giving that punk a show!”

(So, she’s into possessive-jealous Mike apparently. It makes her horny. Well, horn _ier._ ) His expression softens when he scans her body, a gentle tug in from their connected hands and she’s sashaying towards him (because, she feels beautiful under his gaze – and worshipped.)

“A...” He adds, in that low-sexy drawl. “Sexy as fuck…show.”

“What about me?” She pouts playfully and shimmies closer wrapping her fingers along his warm, throbbing length. “Don’t I get a show?”

He flinches and closes his eyes, laughing silently. He flexes his bicep, holding the pile of clothes closer to his body like he’s clinging for support.

Ginny strokes his beard with her free hand, runs her fingers through the skin underneath. She spent a great deal of her adolescence swooning over his clean-shaven face. She knows that the angle of his jaw is obtuse, that he has a chin dimple, and shallow cheek dimples – all hidden by that fur on his face. She dips the pad of her finger tracing them all while stroking his erection gently. 

He tosses the whole pile of clothes inside her room, she hears the soft thud of his wallet too. He reaches for her waist, rounding his forearms around her and splaying his palms over the small of her back. Her arm is trapped between them. Ginny tugs on his dick, gently – gets a little sigh-groan as a reward. She threads the other hand into his hair, tilts her face and opens her mouth.

He licks her tongue, licks her lips, shoves his tongue deep – way deep. He hugs her tight, right till she releases his dick and slides the palm over his pecs, rubbing her thumb over his flat nipple. 

She’s breathless when he releases her. She drops her chin, blushes shyly when he presses soft kisses on her eyelids and on her nose.

“Only front row seats for you, baby.” He rumbles.

(She can’t wait!) She giggles. He laughs with her, kisses her forehead before he walks them inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

Two rules in and Livan broke them both, soon enough.

The Cubs made the playoffs. Ginny had spent the evening at sports bar with some guys from the team, watching Mike’s remarkable performance. Her heart raced every time the camera zoomed in on him. The last ball, spiralled up after the batter hit it.  Mike Lawson pulled off his facemask after the batter  ran – he drifted casually in the direction to the backstop, chewing on his gum like he was looking up at a low flying plane and extended his hand.

“Boom!” Blip roared like a herald. On the screen, his mitt snapped shut and the whole bar was in uproar.

(Mike Lawson was San Diego’s hometown hero – didn’t matter that he was a _Cub_ now.)

Despite her outward joy, Ginny’s soul ached as she dragged her feet to the apartment and fiddled with her keys.

Rhythmic moaning and screaming hit her ears even before she could slip the key into the lock.

Ginny had a low tolerance for infidelity. Mommy issues – whatever. So, her anger was already rising when she shoved the door and to find his fine tan Cuban ass humping into a pair feminine legs spread wide on the floor. Add to that, an inhumanly large, pair of synthetic-looking boobs appeared from nowhere ( _A threesome. Oh yay. Not.)_

It was disgusting. Ginny looked away and slammed the front door shut behind her.

(At least, the porno noises stopped.)

Three pairs of eyes were on her. She raised a quizzical eyebrow only at one. Glared at him, until she could move and then she stomped into her room. She didn’t know if they moved their shit elsewhere or if they stopped.

All she could think about was how shallow men were, how there was no such thing as sanctity in relationships and...how angry she was at Mike for abandoning her to deal with such infantile men (wow, where did that came from?).

She slapped her headphones on and forced herself to sleep.

 

“Rule three!” She blared at Livan after throwing a bucket of water at him to wake him up for practice. “No sex in the common areas!”

“You don’t get to judge me.” He would say to her later as they ate breakfast. Only the chomping, crunching sounds of cereal dying between her molars filled the silence.

“No, I don’t.” Ginny agreed. “It’s none of my business. Isabella gets to judge you.”

He’s livid.

She’s not one to back down. “I got a problem with all the public lewdness.”

“Shut up.”

“Y’know.” She ground out. “I really wanted to believe you were capable of being true – guess, I was wrong. Tell me again, how you’d feel if the situation was reversed? What if Isabella…”

He slammed his fist angrily on the table.

“Just what I thought.” Ginny snorted.

“It just happened.”

“Whatever.” Ginny said. “Just don’t let it happen in my line of sight. Okay? Or I’m out.”

“What, you never missed somebody so bad you needed to get it out of your system?” He taunted her.

“ _Tsk!”_

 “Don’t pretend, Mami.” Livan jumped up, throwing his plate to the side.

“Oh, what?” She rears back. “You’re judging me for jerking off? Like you don’t…?”

“I don’t judge you for that.” He retaliates. “I hear you, when you help yourself, Mami.” Livan spits, grabbing his jacket and getting ready to storm out. “I’m pretty sure Mike Lawson doesn’t.”

Ginny’s mouth drops.

“I was wrong about those walls, by the way.” He pointed to the connecting wall. “They are not soundproof.”

“Isabella’s a real relationship, Asshole!” She roared after him.

But he was already gone.

 

Livan turned up at her little closet after practice, just as she was lacing up her sneakers, ready to go home.

“Are you gonna move out?” He asked.

“Huh? No.” She suddenly snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes at him. “I mean – are you gonna…?”

“I’ll follow your rule, Mami. It’s only fair. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable living with me.” He said. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t think you would be back so early.”

“Yeah, let’s just forget about it.” She shook her head and donned the other shoe.

“I’m sorry I – said all those things.” He said, looking sullen. “I shouldn’t have…I mean, it was none of my business, who you think about when you…”

“Let’s forget this.” She cut him off. “Please.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you won’t.”

He sighed and then pulled out his phone and showed it to her.

“What?”

“Look at it.”

It was a picture of Livan deep dipping a blonde woman.

“What about it?”

“She sent me an email – with this photo.” He swiped his phone and showed it to her. “It’s in Spanish. She says –everybody warned her, everybody knows about my reputation – it’s bad enough that she was a fool to believe me – but I should, at least, have had the decency to break up with her.”

“Papi.” Ginny said sadly. “She’s hundred miles away from you. You can’t expect her not to look at these photos and not worry.”

“No, it’s not that. She – she says that she’s had enough. Her _Abuella_ – her grandmother? She doesn’t like me. She’s always been after Isabella to marry this lawyer. Here –“ He points to the phone. “Isabella says: he is not you – but he is kind and he cares for my feelings. I am marrying him at the end of the week. So – please never contact me again.”

“Oh.”

“This was sent a week ago.”

“Papi.”

“She’s probably already married him, Mami.” He looked at her with a completely heartbroken face. “I – I – I didn’t know – I don’t know…”

Ginny rose from her chair and pulled him in. She shut the door as he drifted into her space and sank to his knees, sobbing. He started rambling something in Spanish. Ginny didn’t know what else to do so she sank to her knees and embraced him.

He wept - in her arms - like a baby.

“Estoy solo ahora. No tengo familia. Estoy solo ahora. No tengo familia…” He kept repeating that.

_I am alone, now. I have no family._

Ginny didn’t know what to do so she hugged him tighter. 

For some reason, her thoughts drifted to Mike. “ _The Padres was the only family he had.”_ Blip had said to her.

“You have me.” Ginny said, stroking Livan’s face, as his sobs ebbed. “You have the _Padres_. You have baseball.”

He looked up at her with frantic eyes. Ginny felt her own tears slip as she nodded at him encouragingly. He looked at her for the longest time before he nodded.

(His relations with the team improved dramatically after that.)

 

* * *

 

“You taste like grape soda.” His words are a breath of air that hit the back of her throat when his mouth covers hers. He wipes that glistening slick over his mouth and beard with his hand before he kisses her hard. Ginny moans and opens her mouth wide letting him torment her mouth in the same way he tormented her down there.

(He went down on her again – from the front. He split her thighs under his heavy catcher hands – made her come twice.)

Slow, demanding – but oh god – so intense and so hot. 

(What is it about Mike's voice? How can he just amp up her arousal with that deep timbre?) 

Ginny whimpers, arches her body up and orgasms.

 

By the end of it, Ginny was convinced that Mike’s dick had superpowers. (How he held out so long without reprieve -? It’s like he’s prepping her – for something.)

She sighs and slips her arms under the pillow as he levers off her, too boneless to react. She rolls her head to the side, relieved to find that he’s just gone to retrieve his wallet. Mike places the condom packets next to her head and then climbs back crouching over her. She closes her eyes and relaxes against the pillow, listening to the crackle of the foil when he rips it open.

His restraint has to be admired. The way he grunts as the latex covers thickness is the only tell that it’s he’s painfully hard at that point. She stretches her legs out, letting him grab her knees as he shifts between her thighs.

“Ginny…” He says. “I uh…” She opens his eyes and sees those worry lines deeply etched into his forehead. “Just- I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” He says. “Okay? I mean it. I’ll pull out.”

She appreciates how considerate he is but - why would he think that? Why wouldn’t she like it? He’s big and thick all around and to be frank, she hasn’t really done this in a while, so it’s bound to hurt. How can it not? But…this wasn’t a onetime thing, right? Was he afraid she’d judge their future relationship based off one sexual encounter.

“’M not made of glass, Mike.”

That doesn’t seem to appease the tension on his face.

He licks four fingers and rubs her sex. She moans as the numbness dissipates and she feels the lubrication of her cum and his saliva down there. He purses his mouth and strums her clit. A rush of pleasure ripples out through her.

“Hey!” He says, interrupting her moans. “Hold on to me.”

“Quit treating me like I’m some virgin.” She protests weakly.

That, also, doesn’t do anything for that furrowed brow.

She braces one arm – just to humour him - runs fingers along the cuts of his triceps down to his elbow. Ginny slips the other arm down and starts massaging her clit. He looks up into her eyes, then looks down at her actions like he’s confused about where to focus. He digs a fist into the mattress, by the side of her breasts, uses the other to steady his cock. She eases two fingers over her slit and pries it wide, tilting her hips to line them up. He looks up at her face again and nods his chin, once.

(It’s the same headnod he gave her on field. She’s thinking about how she missed that gesture when he enters her.)

_Oh…god!_

Ginny’s stretched out and feels like she’s being ripped apart. Only – in the most wonderful way. Her whole lower body throbs as she feels his heat infusing through her insides. She’s vaguely aware of him grabbing her wrists, forcing her to lock her arms around him for support.

“Legs up, baby.” He orders.

She obeys – or tries to. She can’t bloody feel her legs.

 _Ohgod.ohgod.ohgod._ She heaves, thrashing her head about.

“Ginny?” She hears echoes of his voice. It’s barely audible through the intense madness coursing through her.

“Yeah! I’m good.” She gasps, when she feels him sliding out. She thrusts her hips outwards hoping he takes the hint. She feels the heel of his palm, pressing up against her knee. She doesn’t know why – until - _Ohggod!_ He’s sinking in deeper.

“Ohmigod!” She yelps. “Oh- fu-Mike!” She squeezes her eyes tight as pain and pleasure mix in this heady swirl of… _something_.

Her head is pounding, her heart is thundering at her chest and Ginny can feel her diaphragm lurch up and down, with heavy breaths.

When she opens her eyes – he’s there, hovering over her face. His eyes pitch dark, his face flushed pink, brows furrowed deeply as he peers at her and there’s just ten different kinds of worry written all over his countenance.

“Mike.” She gasps, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He presses kisses all over her forehead, her eyes, her nose. “Here, Gin – I’ve got you.” He whispers between kisses. She tries to latch on to his words – and when she can’t, she brushes his beard with trembling fingers and tilts her face up. He bends his head down and kisses her softly and gently. She moans and tries to focus on his kissing – it soothes her.

It’s a wonder how he holds himself still as she squirms to adjust. She feels him deep – and she just - she doesn’t want that connection with him to go away. She grabs the sides of his waist, digs her fingers into the soft skin overlying the hard oblique muscles. She rocks her hips down – feeling every sensation as the length of him slides out. He groans and drops his head against her forehead. She thrusts her hip up slowly. She repeats the actions once or twice and leans her head back. The paroxysmal tension in her spine gives way, she sinks back into the mattress and rides him from beneath.

“You feel so good, Gin.” He’s murmuring, draping his lower lip against her eyebrows. “You’re so tight – it feels so good, you’re so beautiful….!” He kisses his way up her cheekbone to her nose. His voice has an almost child-like timbre when he talks. “Does it feel good, Gin? Is this okay?”

She hums her affirmative, nodding furiously, looking up at him pleading eyes. He takes the hint and starts rocking in to her. Ginny moans and relaxes her lower body. She unlocks her ankles from his waist, arching back and planting her feet on the bed and letting him take over the motions. He levers off her, digging his hands into the mattress, looking down between their joined bodies. Ginny writhes when the change in position sets of a series of hot sparks. She rolls her eyes hut and focusses on his throbbing heating plunging through her – deliciously slow.

“Baker?” His voice makes it through the giddiness.

“Yeah.”

“I can stop.”

“Please don’t.”

The sound he makes might be a chuckle, might be a grunt - Ginny doesn’t care. There are chunks of her body coming to life that she didn’t know existed, until now. She feels something incredible awaken – and it’s everywhere. It’s in her cunt, it’s in her stomach, in her ass –in her – breasts – it’s in her brain.

If it’s so good, now – she wonders how amazing it would be when she adapts to him. When her system gets accustomed to his size, his intensity, his person. She’s on a high from the sex alone – she can’t even begin to comprehend the complex emotions that are wreaking havoc in her heart.

“I gotta move faster, baby…” She hears him whisper.

(Of course, he has to. He’s been far more patient than she expected and it’s overwhelmingly sweet.) She groans with frustration when she feels him slip out. But, before she can open her mouth, he’s yanking her closer, a little brusquely – pulling her hips up at an upward incline. Ginny spots a vexed, apologetic look on his face when he slips inside her (like, he’s at war within himself).

He angles downwards and starts pounding into her. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He’s rambling underbreath.

He looks so – flustered. He pulls one of her legs over his shoulder and puts pressure on the other knee to spread her hip out.  Ginny watches him – he grinds his teeth and starts thrusting faster, looking annoyed – and she’s too sexed up in her head to figure out why. He pulls her up higher till her ass is resting on his thighs.

She can feel him, right up - all the way, bottomed out. Yes, there’s a soreness and discomfort but he’s filling her up so nice and tight – she’s starting to disconnect from her body. In a good way.

When he gropes her breast, she hums and arches up. Her plays with her nipple until she’s moaning – and for an instant those forehead rows relax, he almost looks - hopeful.

 _Oh_.

(Such a complex man. All power and muscle, so gruff and grouchy – but his heart is gentle and so – caring.)

She feels loved. That’s the thing. She feels loved.

_Oh god._

(Is she supposed to have a reciprocal feeling?  Why can’t she say or feel something appropriate?)

Her anxiety must show on her face because he leans forwards, and his thrusts are less rhythmic – like he’s forcefully decelerating.

“Mike.” She says.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Again.”  She says, just as he thrusts in. She groans when the head his dick hits deep – and it’s a bittersweet ache.

“I love you?” He says, looking unsure.

Ginny laughs (– because - she doesn’t know what she expected as an answer, either. She just didn’t want him to stop.)

He breaks into a grin. Readjusts himself so she can feel his weight as he continues to thrust. She moans and lifts her chest out, rubbing her breasts up on his chest. She reaches her hand to grab his ass – curls her fingers till she can get a handful of his flesh, palpates the whole battery of strength in his glutes as they power his actions.

“I love you.” He whispers, brushing his beard over her forehead. He combs her hair back, flattening his forearms on the side of her face. He rolls his hips around, stirring her cunt with his rigid dick.

Ginny cries out in delight.

“Oh, do that!” She begs, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to hold through the currents of sheer pleasure she feels. “Do that, please, do more of that!”

He does, and does some more, and more. Ginny’s jaw drops wide, her arms fly around him – her fingers claw into his back. She jerks upwards, latches onto and sinks her teeth into his shoulder. His sweat is salty and the muscle is firm enough for her to lock her jaw over it. She growls, breathing out sharp, ragged breaths through her nose, biting deeper, when it hits her again.

Whatever _it_ was –

 _“Mike!”_ She wheezes – _super_ loud - releasing his deltoid, throwing her head back.

“Did you just -?” She hears him ask. He sounds surprised.

Yep, yeah, yes. She did. 

Her eyes are closed, but she can feel his smile shining on her face. The mattress hits the back of her head (or maybe it’s the other way around.) She’s feeling downright peachy too.

(Rapturous joy. That’s what it was.)

“Shut up and come already, Mike Lawson!” She belts out between chuckles and sighs.

His breath chuckle hits hear ear. “Yes, ma’am.” She hears him drawl and speed up the fucking.

(Smug fucker. Smug, gorgeous – fucker. Her smug, gorgeous, fucker.)

_Hers._

She giggles – then laughs out.

His dick slams at her in pulses before throbbing inside her a few seconds later. His groan of pleasure is loud and booming in her ears. She feels his orgasm echo within her body.

_Hers. Hers. All Hers._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would you believe it? there's more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. sorry i haven't updated in a while.  
> holiday madness. work stuff.  
> happy new year!  
> sorry for the typos.

The first time they coupled, he was painfully hard, practically coming out of his skin with a savage eagerness. As much as it thrilled him to watch her orgasm, as much as her cry of delight pleased him – a larger part of him was chasing after his own satisfaction, so frantically that he was unable to savour her release.

He’s resolved to take it slow this time, dials back the nagging desire to just seize her and fuck her senseless – he wants to commit her body to memory, seal her responses into his nerve endings. He runs his hands up her shin and calves, following up with small kisses, grazing his tongue over welts and scars that blemish her honey-gold skin. Patchy fine hairs stand up, prick back at his lips, .

Ginny hums and shivers with every flick of his tongue, runs her fingers through his sweat-greased hair, scritching through his scalp. He’d made a point to avoid groping that tender purple-hued bruise on the side of her right thigh throughout, recalling that her slide to home on the same side during the game. Now he brushes his beard over it, almost in an attempt to soothe it, aware of that she flinches but doesn’t push him off.

He nibbles on an ugly ridge like scar on the top of her kneecap; she tries to pull her knee away, giggling with embarrassment. Mike pinches into the soft flexure of skin under the knee to keep it fixed.

“Where’d you get this one?” He looks up.

Ginny sits up to get a look, tucking the sheet over her breasts.  She screws her face in recollection.  “Fort Wayne.” She says. “I think.”

“Looks nasty.”

“Yeah, so was the SOB who gave me that.”

Mike looks up at her.

“He stuck his foot when I was running to first – tripped me on purpose.” She offers.

Mike feels a little irked. “What’s his name?”

“If keep tabs on every asshole who deliberately tried to sabotage my game, I wouldn’t have the brainspace to remember your unsolicited life-lessons, Old Man.” She chuckles, stroking his beard.

Mike shakes his head, resumes his exploration, makes it up to the curved edge of her thigh. She sighs and plonks back, playing with his shoulders as he kisses his way to the groove between thigh and hip. She opens her thigh meekly, Mike smirks at her wickedly, ignores her suggestion and runs his tongue over the smooth skin above the edge of her hip. She half-giggles and half-whines with frustration. He plants kisses over her lower belly, fingers over a flat scar over the bony jut of her hip and looks up at her quizzically.

She shrugs. “Don’t remember.”

She bites down on her lower lip, jerks her hips up at him suggestively. That indescribable, heady, tart scent hits him, driving him crazy – driving his dick crazy, but he pointedly ignores her prompting – reaches for the sheet pithily draped over her upper body and rips it away. He rests his weight between her thighs – giving her his chest to seek friction against. Ginny sighs and leans back, she shoves her arms under the pillow, arching her body up as he bites gently up towards the dip below her rib cage, up between her breasts, peppering kisses over the plum edges. Her nipples are brown, perky, turgid and stiffen in response to his touch.  He cups her breast, captures the soft skin in his teeth, laps up the salty beads of sweat, feeling the delicate flesh pucker into a stiff nub against the flat of his tongue. He rubs his beard over already inflamed teeth marks, feeling apologetic about them – but not too much. The hums and whimpers she makes amplifying surges of arousal going straight into his boner. He’s so fucking obsessed with the sounds she makes, he wants to hear them all the time.

“I figured you to be more of an ass-man.” She chokes on her words when he turns his attention to the other breast.

He rolls the stiff nipple around in his mouth, scraping his thumb over the nipple of the other breast. She arches up with a whine, grinds her sex aggressively against his belly, and Mike feels a fresh dampness oozing onto his skin.

“I am an ass-man, you little shit.” Mike mumbles pushing up over her front, squashing her tits under his chest, curling his arm around her body and slipping his palm between her body and the bed, groping her ass to make his point. “I just…” He grins at her – cupping her face, rubbing his rigid length over the seam of her wet folds. “I like your knockers, better.”

“Charming.” She remarks.

“What's with the sarcasm?” He feigns innocence. “You have _the_ best titties, I've seen."

" _The_ best, hah?" She comments wryly.

"I mean - yeah." He grins. "Of all the MLB players, I mean."

"Is that right?" She taunts. "And you make it your business to suck tits of all MLB players?"

"Yeah well...y'know." He shrugs. "I'm a ballplayer..." He kneads her ass with one hand, and fondles a breast with the other. "I like...playing with firm, round things."

She stifles a smile.

He reaches between them for the soft knoll of flesh between her thighs, his fingers raking over the velvet, stubbly skin. “Now this here - this here - is the finest pitcher’s mound I’ve encountered in all my years of playing baseball.” He cracks, drawing his head back, nudging her nose as he pets her.

Ginny bursts out laughing, leans up to kiss him.  “How long …” She says, between the small pecks at his nose. “…have…you…been…holding back…on…that one?”

“I got another..." He pipes up. "Wanna hear?”

“No."

"C'mon, it's funny."

"Okay.”

“How do baseball players keep in touch?" He asks, slipping a finger into the moist welcoming heat to find the stiff hood of her clit.

“I don’t know." Her breath hitches. "How?" 

“They touch base every once in a while.” He says, drawing circles around her clit, making his point.

Ginny’s body flutters in hysterics, and her sex rattles against his fingers with her laughter as he strokes her. Her mouth is open when he kisses her, he slips his tongue in and gets that long, sweet sound that puffs him up with pride and longing at once. 

Mike is still chuckling when presses his mouth to a fine silver line over her eyebrow. It surprises him that he’s noticing it for the first time. It’s inconspicuous, but Mike always thought he had her face memorized down to the freckles on her nose. 

“What about his one?” He breathes.

Ginny goes still. He draws back to look at her face. Her smile has faded and she looks – disturbed.

It’s not his way to prod, but curiosity wins out. “Baker?”

When she doesn’t reply, Mike gently releases her clit and strokes the side of her waist. He ducks his head and starts to swirl his tongue in the hollow between her collarbones, running it up along the column of her neck. He kisses over her windpipe, feels it move as she speaks. “That’s – from the accident.”

He doesn’t understand at first, draws back and sees a lost look in eyes that will not meet his.

“When Pop…” She starts to say, but trails off.

Mike cups her chin and kisses her lips. “You were with him, in the car?” He asks, gently. She nods, kisses him back, draping her arms around his neck.

“I was scouted by the Padres that night.” He hears her voice waver as he kisses along the edge of her jaw.

“How badly were you hurt?” He asks, kissing along the edge of her jaw.

“Not enough to die.” She says, sounding sad.

Mike pulls back and gives her a look. Her eyes are wet and she’s looking away.

He should leave it – should let her have the space she needs. He just – he’s glad she didn’t die…and he wants to tell her the same. “Ginny.”

She blinks away the tears and looks up at him.

Mike doesn’t know how to articulate the words. He drops his chin and gives her a soft sweet kiss. She deepens it, caressing his beard and neck until she stirs under him and pushes at his shoulder. He doesn’t stop kissing her when he turns onto his back. He caresses her back soothingly as she rolls on top of him.

She trails kisses over his neck and chest hastily, straddling him as she shifts lower. He grapples around for the condom and hands it to her when he finds it. He runs his hands up and down her rib-cage, taking in the view, leaning back into the mattress, smiling up at her as she fumbles with the foil.

It feels rather redundant to say it to _the_ Ginny Baker, but he does any way.  “You’re so beautiful.” He bites back the hiss when she rolls the latex over his erection. “You’re…incredible.”

“And you’re just saying that because you wanna get laid.” She teases, flattening her palms over his stomach for support as she lifts her hips.

“Yeah I kinda do…” He chuckles. “But it’s true – Baker…you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Oh, I have some idea.” Ginny smirks, naughtily and takes him in. Her head rolls back and her mouth drops open in a husky, sharp sigh. Mike grunts at the tight and snug draw of her cunt as she settles around him.

“God you’re so tight.” He grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And you’re so big.” She gasps.

He gives her a cocky grin. Gets a light smack on his shoulder as a retort.

He palms her thighs, drums his fingers gently over her flat stomach, fondles her breasts before slipping a hand behind her neck to pull her down, propping himself to sit up to kiss her. He shoves his hips up, slides in and out slowly, keeping the tempo deliberately sloppy and languid as they make out. She jerks her head back, eyes rolling shut – screwing her eyebrows in concentration as she bears down to meet his thrusts.

“You blow me away…you know that?” He says, struggling to find his voice.

“Yeah, so I’ve…heard.” She mouths between gasps. She drops her head to his ears. “Harder, Mike.”

Her husky moans already had him moving faster – that hushed plea didn’t help things. “Ginny…” He warns her gently, drags his hips in slow, long, unhurried movements – trying to read the signals of her body, exploring her with his hands, seeking out that spot inside her again. 

She grinds down in rapid, discordant thrusts as though she’s reinforcing her demand. She pins his biceps on the bed, levels her weight forward when Mike tries to slow her down by deliberately pulling back. Somehow, that eggs her on. She sighs and sits back, digs her knees on the sides of his hips, her cunt sucking him in deeper, the head of his cock bottoming out. 

His gasp is almost in unison with hers. She winces momentarily, in what looks like pain, but then a broad, satisfied grin overtakes her countenance. “Yes.” She hisses.

He doesn’t know if the inflection in her voice or the warmth of her body surrounding him – a potent heat fans out through his skin in response. Mike rolls his ass back and pistons in again – all the way - and she cries out the affirmative. Again.

“Harder.” She demands, the look in her eyes louder than timbre of her speech

“Ginny.” He begs. (Because – he’s trying to be a gentleman here, dammit.)

She catches his face, forces him to meet her eyes. There’s a wild, persuasive sentiment in them. “Longer and…” She breaks off for a cursory groan. “…and harder, right? Isn’t that how you do it?”

Mike doesn’t register the challenge in her voice at first. In fact – he doesn’t have a clue what she implies. He’s distracted by the bounce of her breasts. It drives him crazy, has him fucking up into her faster, has her sighing out victorious little huffs – sends his brain into a spiral of dizziness.

She hums – it’s a smug, happy sound. She rides him – her strong body cramping around him in a way that feels completely new and completely familiar at once.

“I like how you do it." He offers. "Fuck me, babe.” He reaches up to kiss her, gathering her in his arms, palming her sweaty back. “You’re so tight, Ginny – so hot.” He pulls back – finds her watching his face. “You’re so…” He fumbles around in a completely vacant brain and comes up with the weakest, lamest compliment he can find. “…Sexy.”

And yet, her cheeks colour at that. It amazes him, fills him with pride even.

She claps the side of his face. He closes his eyes and leans his beard against the hollow of her hand. “And I wanna fuck you forever.” He rambles, squeezing his eyes, trying to come up with the right words. (Utter bullshit comes out, though.) “I wanna…” He digs his heels into the mattress, drawing his knees up. Mike groans when her cunt cramps around him involuntarily. “Fuck.” He mutters. “Being inside you…it feels so good.” He sounds whiny to himself. “I wanna take you so hard, you’re gonna feel it – all the way deep. I want you to be so sore, you won’t be able to windup for a week.”

“Yeah?” She grunts. “You gonna keep giving speeches, Old Man? Or you gonna deliver on that?”

Mike’s eyes fly open. She’s staring at him, mouth half-open, irises black with arousal, the dare evident in her expression. Mike gives her a lopsided smirk before grabbing her ass and grinds up into her, rolling her ass under his palms, till she’s sobbing loudly.

“You like that, huh? Longer and harder?” He utters – and suddenly he gets it. He's surprised that his mind connects the dots. (The arrogant declaration he made. The warning he belted out, bumping his shoulder into Livan’s. Ginny had been there. She’d heard. All those months ago – she’d heard and it stayed with her. Makes him wonder about how long she’s been thinking about him this way.

He doesn’t fucking care how long, is what he realizes.)

“Yeah!” She groans softly, grabbing his shoulder and punching a free hand into the mattress, curving her spine. “Give it to me, Mike…” She begs. “All of it.”

“You do realize I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman here.” He snorts, grinning at her.

Ginny wraps a hand behind his neck, bracing his shoulder with the other, laughing and sighing at the same time.

“Are you now?” She taunts, giggling. Mike can’t help it. He starts laughing with her.

Everything feels so urgent and so relaxed at the same time. She stops moving suddenly and ducks to kiss him. Mike slows down to a halt, keeping himself buried inside her and kisses her back.

It’s a long, deep, wet kiss. He doesn’t really leave her mouth. Keeps his lips hovering over hers, unable to wipe the smirk off his face.  “I love you.” He murmurs, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her again. He feels her contract around him. She throws her head back and sighs, looks at him with those big eyes, and that big smile.

“Again?” He offers.

She nods.

“I love you.” He whispers – and it happens again: her muscles tighten around him – squeezing his rigid shaft inside her. Mike’s eyes roll shut and his mouth slacks. “I love you.” He mumbles – keeping his eyes shut, savouring the way her inner muscles spasm around him, but she’s outwardly still.

Mike rolls his hips around, keeps doing it until she sucks in a breath and gasps loud. “There…just…” She arches her neck and screws her face in concentration. She flutters around him, adjusting her body so he’s shoved up against it.

“There…!” She pants softly. “Don’t…don’t move…just…don’t…move. Right there.”

He doesn’t. Mike stays. He remains perfectly still despite the raging demands of his body, watching her with bewilderment and a big fat expectant smile.

Her eyes bulge, focussing at a point on the ceiling and her jaw drops. She comes apart with a quiet gasp and a flutter of her lashes.

It’s so – fucking amazing it almost sends him over right then. But he waits and waits and waits - until her eyelashes stop flapping and she zones in on him with a baby smile. She pushes him down, and he flops back willingly and lets her grab his shoulders and watches her as she starts rolling her hips. He catches her pitching hand and kisses it, zeroing in on how that drift builds inside. His stomach tightens as a prelude and all it takes is a loud groan and two – maybe three - clumsy upward thrusts before his vision whitens, his muscles give way and he cums.

 

*

 

The night before the official announcement of the trade, saying goodbye to Ginny was difficult. She was closed off, stoic and seemingly unmoved. Her jaw was set and her eyes were emotionless; there was a perfunctory wish of good luck, a ‘keep in touch’, the sight of her retreating back as she hurried off in the opposite direction, and that was it.

For his part, Mike was in somewhat of a stupor; unable to process, trapped under the weight of thousand emotions and forced to shut them all out.

He feels the same way, right now. Only, it’s a different sort of numbness, a different sense of loss.

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye, okay?” She mumbled, right before she slipped off, sated and exhausted, curling into his body, shackling him down under her wiry arm.

And Mike spent the remaining few hours, wide awake, just watching her sleep, feeling everything – elation, nostalgia, loss, love – all of it. At once.

He stared at the rise and fall of her back outlined by the iridescence filtering in through her window, tried to etch the sight, sound, taste and feel of her into his mind. Tried to reconcile the ‘ _it’_ that happened - the culmination of ‘ _what_ ’ which had started from the moment he laid eyes on her.

If dragging his body out of bed, away from her warm embrace felt like a burden, how is he supposed to get dressed and walk away? How is he supposed to haul his reluctant ass back to Chicago, pretend like he’s okay with leaving her here? How is he supposed to be okay with not having to see her every day, with not listening to her husky voice or her artless horsey laugh. How is this one night supposed to be enough?

(He did it – once before: pretend. Pretend to be okay with separation. Pretend to be satisfied with phone calls, video chats and sending the occasional gift.

He was younger, his sportsmanship was stronger – the motivation was as precious as well. It fit into the idea of a dream that worked for two. Carving out a place in baseball history, pursuing a passion for him – earning a living, building a life for her, with her.

And then Rachel left.)

He intentionally tries to reconnect to those emotions, the ones he felt whenever he kissed Rachel goodbye. But. It’s not the same. Nothing feels transitory or normal about this goodbye. It feels like punishment. No matter how hard he tries he cannot bring himself to compare what he felt for Rachel to what he feels for Ginny. He was a different man then, he's a different man, now.

Mike doesn’t turn on the lights. He kisses her forehead; hangs on to the memory of her face, the way her eyebrows screwed up in concentration before she orgasmed, the way her warm skin felt one with his, those husky sounds echoing in his ears, the emotion in her eyes – the unsaid words.

“Ginny.” He whispers inaudibly against her temple. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

( _I love you,_ he wants to say but he’s choked up.)

Her body doesn’t even twitch when he speaks.  So, her husky reply, drowsy and barely audible comes as a surprise.  “Go.” She mumbles.

Mike draws his head backs and blinks at her.

There’s no movement on her face. Her eyelashes are glued to her cheeks in perfect stillness. When he presses a soft kiss to her mouth, her lips are responsive but, but just barely – more an involuntary reaction than a legitimate response.

“I’ll kick your ass, Mike.” Comes her loopy mumble just as he pulls away. “You left the team, ran off to the _Cubs.”_

Her voice is filled with reprimand, yet she’s still somewhere deep in the clutches of sleep. It’s – straight up endearing and Mike lingers, brushing unobtrusive kisses over her face, unable to contain his love for her.

(If he wakes her now, he’ll end up cancelling his flight.

The idea seems appealing, enough. He could creep back into bed and lose himself in her for another day – maybe more. He could be a no-show for the game at Wrigley, incur a massive fine, embarrass himself. 

It would not be the worst scandal he’d face.)

"You left me. _”_ She accuses.

 _I know._ He wants to say, but doesn’t.

“You better get that World Series ring – “ She mandates, still asleep. She leans her cheek unconsciously towards the brush of his chin. “I’ll kick your sorry ass if you don’t get it Mike…”

Mike chuckles silently.

She garbles. “Long distance sucks.”

He wholeheartedly agrees.

There’s only one thing that could possibly make this separation worthwhile, Mike decides.

He’s gonna go to fucking Chicago and win the fucking World Series.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny regards herself in the mirror bewildered, feeling peculiar and different.

Dominating, possessive alpha males and vigorous sex - really - not her thing. She’s the one in charge, she likes to have the power. She’s a woman who recognizes her worth, likes to be pampered and gentled – treated with softness, affection, and respect.

Because, Ginny Baker is her own person. She cannot be possessed. She might be someone’s girlfriend, maybe someday someone’s wife but Ginny Baker is, was and always will be her own woman.

Three-ish months after Pop had died, with her only friend moving away, Ginny lost her virginity to a player on the NC state team. She was lonely and drowning in ten different kinds of pain. The boy was real sweet, enough to distract Ginny from her grief. She liked it all the way up to third base, but it was when he exuberantly hit home, that Ginny discovered a whole new different level of physical pain. She nutted-up, iced her vagina and got over it. Even, innocently liked to think that she belonged to him, that he loved her – that they’d get married and have babies – that maybe she loved him as well.

Until she overheard him trumpeting his conquest to the entire fucking team. Bitter, belittled, and heartbroken, Ginny learned a lesson for life. She regrouped, dumped his sorry ass -  promised herself that she’d never date ballplayers, promised herself that no one would own her.

The centrefielder-who-shall-not-be-named wasn’t the first boy and probably wouldn’t be the last man who tried to take a piece of her. Some (Trevor) almost succeeded. Some (Noah) tried to be subtle about it.

They all tried. They all failed.

But Mike…

Mike, with his intense, desirous gaze, all that restrained longing…for her. With that raw, bridled passion lurking, kept tightly reined in, dampened by maturity, curbed by thoughtfulness. That darker, primal _something_ that Ginny sensed. Something deep within, something that liked to possess, liked to own, that manifested in the genius of his lovemaking.

It spoke to her subconscious. It awoke something in her. Something fierce and carnal. So magnetic, so powerful, so enticing that Ginny wanted it. All of it.

She wanted him - _(“Harder, Mike.”_ Her voice rebounding in her head, his acquiescence written all over her body) - uninhibited, uncontrolled, unravelled. She wanted his weight, she wanted the feel of his forceful thrusts, she wanted his large cock slamming up the deep end. He gave in– maybe, against his sense of chivalry -  gave it to her, as she demanded it.

Hard, deep, intense. (All Mike, exactly as he was).

She runs her fingers over the inflamed bite marks tattooed over her neck and breasts. She scans her body, twists and checks her back. Bruises matching his large fingers are printed everywhere. She closes her eyes and she can still hear his rackety gasping in her head, she can still feel his mouth and beard over her lips and her sex. She reaches down there and finds her folds, swollen and sore, bearing traces of Mike. The tingle over her clit is a memory of his soft beard rubbing against her sensitized flesh. Her inner muscles feel sore, stinging like they’ve been overstretched.  She feels a little naïve when she considers how easily he read her body. How deftly he uncovered secrets of her body by his hands and mouth, awoke longings and sensations that she didn’t know existed.

She’s no longer the custodian of her person, she realizes. That is what is different about her.

She’s marked, branded - it’s there, inscribed in her skin, engraved deep into her core, that invisible disclaimer written over her body and heart: Property of Mike Lawson.

It’s not a violation. It’s not mere ownership. Ginny feels worshiped, adored, loved, wanted, revered.

It’s belonging. 

It’s mutual.

The way he looked at her. That desperate appeal in his eyes when whispered his love to her repeatedly. A prayer of unspoken words - unheard but understood: _Own me, make me yours. Be mine, but own me first._

She’s marked him as well. He belongs to her.

Ginny smirks at herself with an absurd sense of gratification, covers herself up with a long-sleeved polo-tee and sweatpants before she heads out of her room.

 

“Yo, Mami, you okay?” Livan frowns at her as she waddles out.

(That’s right. She _waddles._ Also, she slept through till the afternoon. Missed practice.)

She’s hobbles to the fridge to fetch ice, keeping her thighs splayed as far away as each other as she can while she walks.

“Pussy burn, ah?” Livan snorts.

(And beard burn. But, Ginny’s not going to tell him that.) She grabs the icepack, smiles gratefully at him for the cup of coffee he’s made for her, winces at him non-committedly and then wobbles back to her room.

“Looks like Lawson finally got his head out of his ass.” She catches his mutter just as she makes it to the door.

Ginny whirls around looks at him, astonished.

“Relax, Mami!” Livan winks at her. “I saw him leaving - this morning.”

“Did he see you?” She frowns.

“Nope.”

Ginny nods and then leans against her door.

Livan’s dimples fade, suddenly. His eyebrows twitch. “Hey Mami.” He says, frowning quizzically. “You were into it, right?”

“Into what?”

He rolls his eyes, like she stated something preposterous.

“Into the sex.” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Huh?”

“I mean to ask…” Livan moistens his lips, like he does when he’s unsure of what words to use. “Did he pressure you?”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny frowns.

When Livan’s eyes shift to her legs, his eyebrows lifted with concern, Ginny looks down and notices that she’s standing with her feet braced apart.

…because she’s _that_ sore.

She sighs and rolls her eyes, straightening her legs, wincing as her inner thigh muscles spasm.

“He wouldn’t dare.” Ginny says, boldly. “Don’t worry – I uh…I just haven’t um, been that um – I uh – haven’t done it, in a while.”

(That’s a lie, she hasn’t done it like _that_. Ever.

Ginny recalls straddling Mike, when they went at it for round two. He was – _trying_ – as Ginny recalls, to be gentle. She was – _succeeding_ – as she recalls in getting him to be anything but. By round three she lay back and grinned all the way as he fucked her brains out - nice, long and hard.

In fact, as far as specifics are concerned Ginny’s vagina feel like it took a trip to through a shredder.

And she _loved_ it.)

Livan watches her face with a curious expression and then nods slowly.

“Hey – umm…maybe not mention this to the guys?” She says, hesitantly. “Especially Blip…it’s  - I don’t know what we’re doing here. Me and Mike, I mean.”

Livan makes a gesture of zipping his lips. Then a sly smile breaks out on his face. “Only if you let me watch next time.”

Ginny’s mouth slacks. She giggles when he starts chuckling. He raises his mug of coffee to her with a congratulatory eye wink.

“Ay! D’you want help, Mami?” Livan calls after her.

“Shut up!” Ginny laughs louder, shaking her head at him just as her phone rings.

 

Interestingly, Mike doesn’t freak out when she tells him that Livan saw him.  He sounds cranky, drowsy, and downright indifferent. Really, if he hadn’t been the one calling her, Ginny would have wondered if she just imagined the fuck-fest they’d had last night.

 _“Do you trust him to keep his punk-ass mouth shut?”_ Is all he says, in a thick, croaky voice.

“Yeah.”

_“Okay then.”_

“So, um…” Ginny asks, feeling weird because she really didn’t expect him to be this moody. “How are you?”

_“Good. You?”_

“I’m good.”

_“Okay then.”_

“Good.”

_“Great.”_

“Should I call you later?” She asks.

_“Yeah.”_

She hangs up, feeling grumpy herself and lies in the bed wondering if having a relationship with him, a secret one at that was really the best idea.

 

He Facetimes her after an hour, looking about as grumpy as he sounded when he first called her but sounding a little less tired and more affectionate. He doesn’t apologize up front, but he does mention that the flight was uncomfortable and that his back and knees were a little sore with a sheepish expression.

 _“Too much activity for this old man’s body.”_ He winks, suggestively.

So - it’s not entirely an accident when she divulges why she took the day off practice.

That - he freaks out about. 

Honestly, if she knew he’d do the whole contritely protective thing (which was kinda’ cute, B.T.W.) she’d never have mentioned it. She was only trying to cheer him up by complimenting him on the size of his dick. She legitimately thought that he would have been gloating over his prowess.

The last thing she gets is a solid earful from her ex-captain on sexual etiquettes.

(That’s right.

Mike Lawson.

Giving her a lecture on sexual etiquettes.)

 _“Stop. Go easy. No.”_ He bellows.

Ginny has to push the phone away for a moment to save her eardrums.

“Yeah, but….” Ginny frowns. “I didn’t want you to…”

_“Stop! Go Easy! No!”_

“But -”

_“It’s that simple. Haven’t you heard of ‘No means No’!”_

“I don’t think that it applies here.”

_“You say ‘stop’. I stop. You say ‘go easy’, I slow down. You say ‘no’, I back off.”_

“But I didn’t…”

_“You’ll interrupt my speeches on a whim, and wave me off on field without blinking an eyelash, but you’ll take anything I throw at you in bed?”_

(She totally would.) “Well, you are kinda nice in bed.” She points out, with a sneer.

 _“I’m a fucking stud in bed!”_ He declares. She rolls her eyes at all the mock pride oozing from the pixels in her screen. _“I’m beyond nice, I’m the real fuckin’ deal!”_  He’s nodding at her, like she’s supposed to jump up and acknowledge with a ‘yessir’.

“Oh please…” Ginny scoffs. “Don’t be modest on my account.”

 _“But d’you know what I’m not?_ ” He scowls at her. “ _I am_ not _a goddamn degenerate, Baker! Give me some credit!”_

“Shut up!” She tries to go for a stern look, but ends up giggling. “I get to decide!”

_“Exactly, which is why -”_

“No!” She blasts, managing to channel some annoyance. “I get to decide how hard and how rough I like it. Not you! And it’s not like I couldn’t take it!”

_“Oh? You’re saying you can take it? Tell me something, Baker. What are you doing right now? This minute?”_

Ginny looks down at the icepack bleeding all over her inner thighs. “Nothing.” She squeaks.

 _“Uhhuh. You’re lying in bed with an ice pack between your legs, aren’t you?”_  He gives her that look when he’s daring her to lie to him.

“As opposed to you. Or your monster dick.” Ginny retorts.

That shuts him up. His face looks all puffy and sheepish.

“A girl’s got needs.” She mopes. “You’re in Chicago. It’s either the ice pack or the Cuban in the other room.”

 _“Dammit, Baker!”_ He lets out an angry, frustrated hiss.

Ginny breaks into a fit of giggles. Mike relents – he shakes his head until that adorable grin breaks out on his face. Ginny feels fuzzy and warm, smiles back at him with a fond grin of her own.

 _“At least…”_ He begs. _“Go to the doctor!”_

“And tell her what? My boyfriend broke my vagina?”

Mike remains silent with a blank, unblinking expression. For a second, she wonders if the video is frozen and shakes it. “Hey! Old Man? You still there?”

 _“Boyfriend, ha?”_ He looks less irritated now. Ginny peers and finds a more playful expression in the pixelated view of his eyes.

She blushes. “I meant, significant other.”

“ _Mmhmm_.” He raises an eyebrow at her.

“You know I was really hoping the first conversation we’d have was phone sex.” She pouts, dropping her voice suggestively.

Those furrows appear on his forehead. Ginny brushes her fingers over the screen with longing.

 _“I’m terrible at phone sex.”_ He grumbles.

Ginny finds that surprising. “Really?”

 _“Yeah. Not so great with words.”_  His head moves out of view.

Ginny squints at the image and surmises that he’s unpacking. “No!” She mocks. “You? With all your speeches?”

_“Yeah. I don’t really get off on it. Y’know? Makes me cranky, after.”_

“Cranky? You?” She jests. “I’d never believe it. You don’t have a cranky bone in your body.”

His face appears immediately and she sees him deliberately rolling his eyes. _“Ha ha. Very funny, wiseass.”_

She gurgles with laughter. He smiles at her.

 _“I miss you.”_ He says, huffing.

“I miss you, too.” She answers back.

They don’t say anything for a short while, just stare at each other through the video.

 _“So…”_ He says, looking like he’s turning pink. “ _If you’re into phone sex, I’ll just…”_ He offers.

Ginny’s vulva is numb and cold – so, “Nah.” She says, “not in the mood.”

He doesn’t look offended. _“Have you eaten anything?”_ He asks.

“No.” She says, rubbing her tummy.

“Yo Mami!” She hears Livan pounding at her door.

“Yeah?” She yells.

“Wanna go get some lunch?”

She’s hungry, so - “Yeah!” She shouts and then looks at the phone. “Mike, I uh – I gotta…”

 _“Yeah, Go!”_ He encourages. _“I’ve got shit to do, anyway.”_

She grins wide and smooches the tiny spot of the camera. He rolls his eyes at her and then winks. Just before she hangs up, she hears the pained sigh he exhales after she wishes him luck.

 

* * *

 

 

If Mike had to come up with a word to describe the feeling of missing Ginny – the only thing he comes up with is ‘torture’.

Phone sex doesn’t help. They try it sometimes. She asks for it mostly and he’s only too happy to oblige because it is a temporary reprieve for wandering around with a priapic cock every time her face flashes in his mind. But the problem with it, is the rest of his night is completely wasted. He clings to the memory of her husky cries, feeling like he’s going to crawl out of his skin and it messes with his head in ways he can’t reconcile. The eventful postseason keeps them in different cities and different time zones. Their schedules don’t match. It becomes easy to avoid talking to Ginny beyond the occasional phone call.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to call her. God knows, every free minute he’s scrolling up and down his phone screen, watching her name oscillate with it. It’s selfishness on his part, he knows. He knows that he’s taking advantage of her nature. It's just - the more he hears her voice, the more he just wants to dump everything and run home to San Diego.

He’s unofficially off the market. So, he cuts down on the booze. Retries from parties earlier. Doesn’t carry condoms in his wallet any more. Goes to bed early. Doesn’t smile at women. Doesn’t entertain groupies, kicks them out if they ever make it to his hotel room.

If anything he lives up to a reputation of being grumpy, moody, sourpuss SOB and he doesn’t have qualms about it.

 

Ginny’s last game of the Padre’s season is what almost does him in.

She calls him before the game, sounding rather mopey and dismal. Tells him about firing Amelia and about Will stealing from her. She sounds so dejected on the phone, Mike grabs his overnight bag fully intending to get onto the next flight, telling her as much when he starts throwing clothes into the bag.

 _“Don’t you dare!”_ She barks at him, sounding weepy.

“Rookie…” He warns.

 _“Don’t you dare.”_ She orders. _“I don’t need you to come out here on your white horse, rescue me!”_

“I’m not…!” Mike breaks off, sighing in a mix of pride and despair. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he drops into his bed looking into the camera– “I love you, Ginny.”

He hasn’t said the words to her in a long while – in fact, never on the phone.

She sniffles. _“I know.”_

“Is that enough?” He asks, feeling helpless.

 _“I don’t know.”_ She says, looking away from her viewport and then shakes her head. _“I don’t need a speech from you today!_ ” She wags her head, looking at him squarely through the phone with that bossy, determined expression that he loves so much. “ _I don’t need a speech from you! Or my father! Or my brother! Or my agent! I don’t need a man to rescue me! I’m the one on the mound! Me!”_ She points to herself. _“I throw the ball! I give the speeches! And I decide if you need to come here.”_

Mike looks at the screen for a long time, and sighs. “Fine by me.”

She looks up at him in the viewport, gives him a misty-eyed smile.

"I - " He shrugs, "I had a great speech."

"Go!" She huffs. He can see that she's trying not to smile.

 

 

Mike falls in love all over again, watching her throw the best game of her life. When he realizes by the fifth inning that she’s not allowed a hit. He paces up and down in front of the TV cursing himself for not being there to catch for her. They pull Ginny out without any indication and that has Mike cursing himself for not being there to fight for her right to finish the game. It ends with the _Padres_ losing to the _Dodgers_ , losing their last hope at the Wild Card and that has Mike cursing himself for leaving the his team.

In what might have gone down in history as Ginny Baker’s no-hitter game, everything goes sideways.

She doesn’t take his call that night and Mike feels like shit.

He takes a walk in the wee hours, roaming around aimlessly, immune to the bite of the Chicago’s famed icy breeze, checking his phone every five minutes to see if she’s called or texted.

He finds himself in a park, looking up at a bare tree, stripped of all it’s beautiful foliage, hopeless and aged. Fall drifting into winter; his mind, a clusterfuck of resentment, self-loathing, heartache and anxiety.

This undefined relationship that’s only just riding on the strength of the inexplicable bond they share – will it survive the world, he wonders? Will it endure separation, complication, drama? Will it fade into oblivion, defeated by bitterness, distance, time and age?

Mike doesn’t know. 

All he has is a fledgling hope. After all, winter cannot outlast spring, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...i expanded the chapter count.


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